Page 39 of Too Good to Be True

She averted her eyes to her plate and the remnants of spaghetti sauce.

“If you’d rather not—”

“Cantwell was my married name. I went back to my maiden name after the divorce. It was a simple mistake.”

She was referring to Fran and not her marriage. There’d been nothing simple about that.

“Oh,” he said, looking like he regretted asking.

They both picked up their glasses and took another drink as if that would make the topic more palatable.

She’d hoped by now it would have become easier to talk about, but it was like any painful memory, and she hated to dredge it up. However, sharing things was what friends did, and if they were going to be friends…

“Cole and I were married for eight years, and we bought this house together. I always loved it more than he did, so it made sense for me to keep it.”

“Was it…are you two…amicable?”

She sighed. “We don’t communicate much anymore.” Thank God. “It would have been different if we had children.” She felt a pang of remorse and looked away again.

Then she felt Nick’s hand on her arm, and he gave it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She looked up and found him gazing at her not with pity, but in a way that made her want to curl onto his lap and keep talking.

“Thank you. Divorce is never easy, but I know people who had it a lot worse than me.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Almost two years.” She glanced down at his hand, which was still resting on her arm, and he pulled it away.

“Anyway, I should probably clear these dishes.”

“I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Blame it on my parents for raising a polite kid.”

She smiled, and then they stood and started clearing the table. They worked quietly until everything was rinsed and put away except their glasses, which still had some wine remaining.

She’d eaten enough that she hadn’t felt too much effect from the alcohol; however, it might have softened the edges of what was an unsavory topic. Nick also deserved some credit for being such a good listener. He seemed like someone she could confide in without fear. Discretion was a quality she admired in her friends, and now she counted him as one too.

Nick picked up their glasses and brought them over to where she was standing. “How about a toast?”

She chuckled. “This sounds familiar. Didn’t you say the same thing at the bar last weekend?”

“Yes, but that was different. I think we toasted to a productive workweek or something lame like that.”

She laughed again. “What should we toast to this time?”

“How about friendship and fresh starts?”

“I like that.”

They clinked glasses, tipped their heads back, and drank. Then, before she had a chance, he took her glass, rinsed them both, and put them in the dishwasher.

“You’re spoiling me.”