Page 88 of Too Good to Be True

“The only time mine does is when he’s done something wrong,” another woman said.

Everyone laughed except Stacy. All she wanted was a glass of water, not a share session about negligent husbands.

“I send them to myself sometimes,” someone said.

Stacy tried to block out their voices by filling her cup with ice from the loud ice maker on the refrigerator. Her back was to the room, but the women continued the conversation as if she wasn’t there.

“I’ve done that too, hoping my boyfriend would get jealous. Didn’t work.”

“I love flowers, but I don’t have a green thumb. Every plant I buy dies.”

“I can’t wait for the weather to get warmer so I can get out in my garden.”

Stacy snuck out without saying another word, breathing a sigh of relief once she was safely back in her office. By the end of the day, she was whipped. Mondays tended to do that to her, but this Monday had been especially draining.

She waited in her office until fifteen minutes past quitting time, when she felt confident that most of the employees had left. Then she typed out a text to Nick.

I’ll take a raincheck on dinner. I’m beat.

She waited a few more minutes, and when he didn’t reply, she took her purse and the vase of flowers and went out to the parking lot. Somehow she managed to hold onto the vase without it spilling as she drove home.

She carried it into the house and set it on her kitchen table, where she could admire the flowers in private. Then she went upstairs to change clothes, taking her phone with her in case Nick called or texted.

He’d probably be disappointed that she’d canceled, but at least she’d been honest with him. She really was beat, although she’d miss him tonight.

She went downstairs and was peering into her refrigerator, debating what to make for dinner, when the doorbell rang.

She considered ignoring it since this was around the time the UPS driver came. She’d recently ordered a few books, though, and they were due to arrive any day. She opened the deli drawer, thinking she’d make a sandwich, when the doorbell rang again.

Sighing, she closed the refrigerator and went to answer the door. She swung it open and found Nick standing there, balancing a pizza box in the air with one hand.

“Special delivery,” he said.

She’d never been so excited to have a pizza delivered in all her life. Smiling at the sexy delivery man, she said, “Come on in.”

Twenty-One

Nick followed her into the kitchen, placed the pizza on the counter, and then pulled her into his arms.

“I hope it’s okay that I just showed up.”

She nodded, torn between wanting to dig into the food or him.

“I was worried when I got your text.”

She would have liked to put his fears to rest, but she couldn’t, not completely. “I had a rough day.”

“Did Eric give you a hard time?”

“No.”

“What was it, then?”

“Let’s talk while we eat. I don’t want the pizza to get cold.”

He dropped his arms from around her waist and helped her set the table. She recalled the last time they’d eaten dinner here and how different it felt tonight.

He poured them each a glass of wine, and then they sat down.