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Before she could say anything, he pushed a button on the steering wheel and answered.

“Simon’s coming,” Alannah said by way of greeting. “I just wanted to make sure you knew, because I’d bet quite a few bucks that Roy forgot to—yes, by that damning silence I’m going to guess he didn’t mention it.”

The stoplight ahead turned green, but Bishop didn’t move, attention clearly caught on Alannah’s news.

Molly had done what she considered to be an impressive job managing her thoughts away from Simon Clay since her stroke. Especially after Alannah had gently informed her that he was now married and expecting a child with his wife. But the short notice on seeing him again? After six years in the real world but barely any time in her mind? Her chest squeezed painfully.

Bishop made a confused noise when he realized the light was green, pressing on the gas. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

From the background of Alannah’s call—they must have been on speaker too—she heard Roy enter the room.

“See this, babe? Took twenty-eight years, but I’ve finally tied a bow tie by myself.”

Alannah laughed as Roy’s voice moved closer.

“That them?” he asked. “You’re meeting us at the restaurant, right? We’ve really got to get going. Simon and Rachel are already on the road too.”

And with no consideration for the bomb he’d just dropped, Roy snatched the phone from Alannah, said a hasty goodbye, and hung up.

Molly didn’t know any Rachels. At least none who she had any reason to think Simon might have married in the last six years, but that didn’t stop her brain from immediately conjuring a woman with none of Molly’s worst insecurities.

Molly was often called too serious, too studious, so of course Rachel was carefree. Molly sunburned embarrassingly easily, and so Rachel was tanned and lovely. Molly intimidated with her height, so Rachel, of course, was petite and traditionally beautiful. Molly knew nothing of the last six years of her life, and Rachel remembered every moment of hers.

Comparison, that practiced thief of joy and peace, had forcibly taken up residence in the many vacancies in Molly’s mind.

Was Molly underwater? Where had all the air gone? She didn’t want to compare herself to a woman she didn’t even know. She didn’t want to wonder what had changed so dramatically over the last several years. She didn’t want to sit through a dinner with Simon knowing everything between them was different.

Want, evidently, had no invitation to this outing.

Bishop said nothing as he drove, as he turned into the parking lot, as he turned off the car. Molly felt adrift in an ocean of her efforts to sort this new piece of information into the catalog of her strange new life.

A tight, quiet voice dragged her back to shore. “Are you okay?”

She looked at the man beside her. An orangish parking lot light bore down from above, casting eerie shadows and a strange hue on the car interior. Bishop’s hands still gripped the steering wheel, a deep vertical crease running between his brows as he looked at her. A tense muscle strained against the side of his neck. But his eyes were calm, as if every ounce of his concentration was focused on remaining so.

“Yes,” Molly said, reaching for her seatbelt. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“You say that a lot, you know. That you’re fine. It’s okay . . . if you’re not,” he said, almost begging in his gaze. “Would you rather cancel? They’d understand.”

“Would you rather cancel?”

“Yes.”

Molly blinked.

“That’s . . . honest.”

“I can’t imagine I’m going to enjoy watching my wife sort through her suddenly unresolved feelings for her ex-boyfriend.” Bishop released the steering wheel and rubbed the back of his neck. “But if you want to go out—you did put on that beautiful dress, after all.”

Molly bristled. She didn’t appreciate the implication that she was going to gawk and fawn over Simon at a dinner with friends.

“I’d still like to go,” she said, and it felt more like an obligation. Or perhaps that lauded stubbornness of hers.

Bishop nodded briefly and undid his seatbelt.

“Something to keep in mind,” he said as he opened his door. “You’re the one who left him.”

Molly had barely blinked away the image of his bright blond hair and sad blue eyes before he’d exited the car, walked around it, and opened her door for her.