Page 38 of Too Good to Be True

“Sure, but only if you join me.”

“I planned on it.”

She watched him get up, cross the kitchen, and take the bottle from the fridge. When he returned, she saw he’d plucked a kitchen towel from its hook and draped it over his arm.

“Say when,” he said, pretending to be a waiter.

She giggled, yes, giggled, because she felt giddy. She appreciated his sense of humor and his attention to her needs. It was both novel and intoxicating. She just had to make sure she didn’t literally get intoxicated from the wine.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

He bowed and then refilled his own glass.

When he sat down, she said, “Sorry I can’t offer dessert, but I wasn’t prepared. Although I might have some Oreos in the pantry.”

He chuckled. “That’s okay. I’m stuffed.”

They’d finished the food but lingered over the wine.

“So, how long have you lived here?” he asked.

It was an innocent question; however, it made her think of Cole and the divorce, and she didn’t want to go there. She wished the term ex-husband wasn’t even part of her vocabulary and avoided using it.

“About ten years.”

“It’s nice and spacious.”

He was probably wondering why a single woman needed a house this big. When she and Cole had bought it, they’d planned on having children, but obviously, that hadn’t happened.

“It has more space than one person needs,” she said before taking a long drink of wine.

“I’d take this over a tiny apartment any day.”

“When do you get to move in?”

“The beginning of April.”

“Soon, then.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Is Fran hard to live with?” The wine had loosened her tongue, but he didn’t flinch.

“She’s just so…observant. It kind of freaks me out.”

She laughed.

“I lived alone in Florida, so it’s been an adjustment.”

It struck her that she’d had to adjust the opposite way. She’d gone from living with her family to living with Cole. After he’d left, it had taken her a while to get used to living alone. Sometimes she felt like she was still adjusting.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

She felt a prickle of unease, and her fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass. “Go ahead.”

“When Fran said you’d be training me, she called you Stacy Cantwell, but the sign on your office door says Stacy Young.”

She knew it would come out eventually, but she hadn’t expected it here and now. No matter when or where, though, she would have felt the same discomfort.