by Kait Nolan
When she didn’t react to Shaun’s stare, he broke eye contact and took a file of papers from his dark leather messenger bag—the one she’d bought him for their second anniversary—and laid a stack of papers on the table between them.
She studied her meticulously maintained manicure, her eyes avoiding the pile of papers, signatures and twin dates now staring up at her from the dotted line.
Well. That was that.
“Excuse me, I need to visit the ladies’ room,” Delia said softly as tears suddenly threatened. She rose from her chair and retreated, hoping her anger and sadness weren’t evident to Shaun or anyone else. She needed to compose herself; she would not be seen getting upset with her stupid now-ex-husband in public. She couldn’t save their marriage, but she could salvage her pride.
Delia did what she could to stay out of town gossip. She was a reporter for the Sacramento Observer, but she was as used to being in the news as creating it. Her father was the mayor, and he’d been a high-power trial lawyer before that, from old money in this city. Her uncle was a congressman. Delia was used to keeping her affairs to herself, used to the demands of being a public family. The TV news had a field day with any little thing they could get their hands on these days. And the mayor’s bad-girl daughter getting divorced for the second time was sure to be fodder for the twenty-four hour news cycle.
Bad girl. Heh. If she was going to be labeled that way, Delia wished she’d taken more advantage. She should wear skimpy clothes, and drink and smoke at a nightclub. That would really make Mother twitch.
Delia washed her hands slowly in the ladies’ room, thankful that there was no mirror above the sink. She did take a glance in the full-length before returning to her table to ensure she didn’t wear evidence of nearly breaking down.
She returned to her seat wishing to be anywhere else.
Shaun shoved up the sleeve of his sweater and ogled his watch, both of which were expensive and purchased with Delia’s money, looking for the final escape.
“I need to get back to the office.”
You mean the office secretary?
She’d finally asked for a divorce after catching him cheating three times in four years. With three different women. The latest was the secretary at the real estate office where Shaun had started as a temp last fall.
Her phone pinged with a new tone, and she picked it up from the table, wondering what the heck had been insta-installed now. She couldn’t keep up with the rapid change in these silly devices. As long as she could connect to her phone contacts, maps, email and Facebook, she was golden.
This was a text message, from a number—a name—she’d never seen before.
CRAIG: Welcome to Virtual Match. My name is Craig, and I’m excited to be your match.
Another text came in while she was still trying to make sense of the first.
CRAIG: I can’t wait to talk to you. I’m so glad we met.
Huh?
Shaun stood up to leave, and she saw him grinning as she tried to decide how to reply to the mystery text. “Oh, did your new boyfriend text you already?”
“What?” Delia asked. “I’m not seeing anyone. Not that it’s any of your business anymore.” She gestured to the newly signed divorce papers.
He laughed. “Sure you are. Or at least, that’s what it’ll look like. You should learn a little more about tech, Delia. Like to lock your phone. Friendly word of advice.” His smile wasn’t friendly at all, it was malicious and mean and not at all the man she’d thought she was in love with.
“What did you do?”
“I just bought you a little help with your social life. A new ‘virtual boyfriend’ is the only hope you have for company, sweetheart.” He leaned in, his breath hot on her cheek. “It’s the least I can do, taking such a slice of your dough and all.”
He walked off.
Delia shut her eyes, allowing herself a few heartbeats of horror and embarrassment in the privacy behind her eyelids. She composed herself, discipline asserting its guiding hand.
She looked at her phone, brow furrowed. She swiped the screen, scanning for anything new, but she couldn’t see what Shaun was talking about. All of this stuff on here. So many parts of life with Shaun to disentangle from her own now that she’d cut him loose.
The money was worth it, knowing she wouldn’t have to come home to him again, knowing she wouldn’t have to wait and wonder when he was coming home to her.
She was free.
She ordered lunch. She most certainly was not returning to her car before she had lunch. Shaun’s manners be damned.
Had she really thought they’d sit across from each other and have a meal?
She didn’t know what she thought. What was right in this situation?
The waiter brought her salad, and she placed her napkin in her lap and lifted the salad fork, the familiar motions calming her a little.
As she stabbed into her salad, a smile lit up her face.
She was free.
Chapter Two
Delia made two stops on her way home. The first was at her lawyer’s office, where she delivered the divorce papers with little preamble and left as quickly as possible. It was Friday afternoon and the parking lot was quiet. Delia did a mini-happy dance on the way to her car. Because she deserved to celebrate.
Her second stop was at the small grocery store near her condo building downtown. A few pieces of fruit and frozen pizzas later—not to mention a couple of bottles of red wine—and she had everything she needed for a quiet night of reflection on how her life had spiraled so completely out of control.
Or maybe just some bad TV and worse food.
Her phone rang as she juggled her three bags out to the car. It was Jeff Caruthers, a fellow reporter from the Sacramento Observer. She answered hastily, wondering what kind of story had come up on her day off.
“Hey, Jeff,” she grunted, almost losing her hold on the third grocery bag. Luckily she didn’t, because it was the one with the wine bottles and she didn’t need any more messes today.
“Delia? How’s it going?”
“Um...fine. What’s up? Big story?”
“Oh! No. Just checking in.”
Jeff always sounded a little too excited for whatever the situation entailed, and today it rubbed Delia’s nerves the wrong way. She was on her last reserves of patience.
“Well...it’s my day off…”
“Yeah, that’s actually why I called. I have something to ask you that doesn’t feel appropriate at the paper.”
Damn it. He was going to ask her out. Please, please don’t say the words…
“I know your divorce is final now. Do you think we could go out sometime?”
Delia held her breath for a few heartbeats, along with the first retort she thought of. Was he kidding?
“Look, Jeff. We’re coworkers. It would not be appropriate for us to date. Also, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Not to mention you’re a terrible person for even thinking of asking this way. And I’m not remotely interested in you anyway, so thanks for making me uncomfortable.
“Oh...I...okay.”
Delia rolled her eyes. Was he seriously surprised? Good lord. She hadn’t even been divorced for a day. Asking her out wasn’t a compliment—it was like standing outside a competitor’s funeral and handing out business cards. It made her feel gross. She bid Jeff goodbye with a “see you next week” and hung up her phone.
At home, Delia took a deep breath as she walked in the front door of her seventh floor condo. She paused after closing it, considering the space. The walls were painted a soft blue, a color they’d had a terrible time compromising over. She giggled. She could change it now. Along with the modern furniture and the post-modern paintings she’d cringed at when Shaun brought them home.
She could change it all.
Shaun hadn’t lived here in two months. Still, today was a new day. Every other time it had felt like she had no real control over whether he came back. Now, after today, she knew he
wasn’t coming back.
He had what he wanted.
The spiteful thought shocked her. She didn’t really think Shaun had been after her money. Hell, he’d just wanted her to cut loose, in the beginning. To have fun, and enjoy being young, and beautiful...and rich. He had always enjoyed the money.
She shrugged, no one there to see the gesture. It was almost as bad as talking to herself.
Needing something to do, she walked into the immaculate kitchen and poured herself a glass of merlot.
It was early yet, but hey, she got divorced today.
Holy shit.
Twice divorced.
Before thirty.
What sort of a dumb ass got divorced twice before the age of thirty?
The type who fell for the wrong sort of man, that’s who.
Delia walked to the windows, and looked down at the hustle of the downtown traffic. Pedestrians filled the sidewalks, a colorful, eclectic mix of color and style. Working people, busily going about productive lives. None of them looked up. She could watch the flow endlessly, and they never lifted their perspective above the first couple of stories.
The business crowd.
She was usually out there with them, chasing down a story or three. Reporting was her passion, and luckily she had money because it sure didn’t pay a lot. She’d started at the Observer almost six years ago, right after earning her journalism degree.
Right before she met Shaun.
Right after her first divorce.
Fucking idiot.
Delia took a gulp of wine.
Why did she always think she needed a man? Like they’d ever done her any good?
She went to the kitchen to refill her wine glass, and then sat at the bar. The ring of her heels against the barstool sounded loud in the empty condo.
She took a big swallow and then set the wine glass down and cradled her face in her palms. The noise she made was not fit for public consumption; somewhere between a whine and a moan. It was a sound her mother would cringe at, right before giving her the look. The one that said Delia wasn’t measuring up to expectations.
Mother had little to say about Shaun, about the second divorce. Little she’d said to Delia, anyway.
Her father had hugged her, had told her it was all going to turn out right—that she was doing what she needed to do, and they were with her. That he wanted her to be happy. She could always count on Daddy.
Delia left her wine where it was and went to the master bedroom. It was one of three in this condo. They’d used the other two for offices. Hers stared out on downtown...and she used it for very little. Shaun’s was windowless, man-cave style, and he virtually never left it.
The master was full of more compromises she’d made with her now-ex husband. But the soft mocha color on the walls was her choice, and so was the traditional style, feminine queen four-poster and other furniture. The art would be easy to take down.
Why the hell hadn’t she done it before? Delia asked herself as she took fifteen seconds flat to take down three large paintings, and turn them to face the wall. She’d give them away later.
Screw Shaun’s taste in art.
She stripped and sorted her clothes into the hamper.
Never a thing out of place when she had her choice. She smiled. No more of Shaun’s mess to deal with—ever.
She was feeling better and better about this. But that might be the glass and a half of wine.
Delia turned on the shower, letting the hot water course over her, cleansing her, head to toe.
She was done with him. For always.
She indulged, taking a longer shower than she normally would. When she shut the water off, she tried to picture herself anew.
A single woman.
Finally.
She dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, and told herself she didn’t have to decide what to do with the rest of her life today.
Her phone pinged from the bedside table.
JEFF: I hope you’re feeling better. Sorry if I overstepped.
Delia rolled her eyes. Overstepped? Yeah. Asking for a date on the day she got divorced might be the least classy act she’d ever encountered.
She didn’t respond, but she did see another text waiting.
CRAIG: It was great to meet you. Are we still on for tomorrow night?
What the hell? Another message from…what had Shaun called it? The virtual boyfriend?
Delia gripped the phone and stared at the screen, like she could make the message go away just by willing it.
Sigh.
Shaun was a jerk. And she should have figured it out sooner. But there was no reason she had to deal with this anymore.
Delia took another look at her phone, scrolling through screen by screen, trying to find what Shaun had installed.
A light bulb went on, and she checked her email. Sure enough, she saw a new email with a ‘subscription’ subject line. Her heart rate sped up as she opened it. Bingo! It had log-in information for a website called Virtual Match.
Gritting her teeth, she accessed the site and looked for the ‘delete account’ option.
Why in the world would Shaun set her up with a fake boyfriend? What a weirdo.
Her eyes drifted to the description of her ‘virtual boyfriend.’
Craig was supposedly an engineer—a boring but safe career choice. And one that paid well. He had degrees from University of Connecticut and Stanford. Shaun would choose her alma mater; he completely lacked creativity.
Virtual Craig was mid-thirties. Older than her, but respectfully so, and in no way disgusting. Neither was the picture Shaun had chosen; a cutie with dimples and short-cropped brown hair. Clean cut—none of this hipster beard stuff.
Another long sigh drifted out, and Delia looked around for her wine glass.
He knew what she wanted. She wanted safe and respectable. She couldn’t take the ‘what is my husband doing with his time’ thing. Not ever again.
All that just showed how right they were to have signed the divorce papers today. Shaun could never be what Delia needed.
Maybe he’d known it. Maybe that was part of why he’d been such a jerk, ever since she caught him with dalliance number two, and gave him his second second chance.
She should have left him then. But she hadn’t been ready.
Now...she had to figure out how to cancel this weirdo virtual date thingy and get back on track. Get back to her life as she wanted to live it.
Her doorbell rang, and she looked up from the phone, brow furrowed.
Who could that be? She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Grandma Elle’s pendant caught her eye, and for some reason she grabbed it, fumbling slightly with the clasp in her rush. It was overkill with the yoga pants, but it was her grandmother’s, and she welcomed the comfort of her gift at the moment.
As she placed it around her neck, a sensation of warmth crept up her chest from where the pendant lay against her breastbone.
It felt right.
She was sure it was just the comfort of her grandmother’s gift, because of course a stone couldn’t make her feel anything.
The doorbell rang again, and Delia finally moved to answer it.
The face she saw through the peephole was the last one she could have expected.
Cole.
Delia bit her lip, but he had to have heard her coming to the door. She couldn’t exactly avoid answering it now.
What the hell was Cole Samson doing here, now, tonight?
Chapter Three
Delia hadn’t seen Cole in three years. The last time wasn’t great. Cole hated Shaun, and he didn’t hide it when he last visited from the east coast.
In her mind’s eye she saw the picture of Craig, the made-up boyfriend, overlaid with Cole’s dimples—with his smile, the one she’d loved since college. The one that used to light up her whole world.
Oh, Jesus. Was she answering this door or wasn’t she?
Delia flung the door open, feeling breathless though s
he’d only walked a few steps.
He grinned at her, and shrugged, like he knew what she was thinking. “Hey, Delia. It’s been a long time.”
Yep, that’s what she was thinking.
“Cole.” She nodded at him. She was not smiling at the man until she understood why in the heck he was here, on this particular night. “It’s been years.”
He blinked at the obvious reproach in her tone. This was the first time since they’d met freshman year at Stanford that they’d gone more than a year without seeing each other, regardless of distance.
“Yeah…” He looked around at the hallway. “Do you mind if I come in?”
She made to say yes, of course she minded...but of course she couldn’t. You don’t turn away your one-time best friend, even if he has dropped off the planet for the past three years.
She turned and let him walk in behind her. She heard the door shut, but didn’t turn around. She headed straight for the dining room table, where her half-full glass of wine stood. She lifted it and took another healthy gulp, because Jesus.
“Is this how we’re playing it?” he asked. Just the sound of his all-too-familiar voice was rattling her. She had missed that voice. The one that had crooned love songs at her when they were wasted in the early hours of the morning, at the tender age of twenty or so. “May I have a glass?”
He stood several feet from her, but it was like she could feel the words spoken against her skin. She could swear the garnet in the pendant vibrated against her chest.
She should slow down on the wine.
“Yeah, of course. Cupboard to the left of the fridge.”
She watched him retrieve the glass, her eyes roaming over the whole of him while his back was turned.
She was still watching when he turned back and caught her stare. His eyes crinkled at the edges with his smile. “Hi. I was beginning to think you were going to give me the silent, no-eye-contact treatment.” He lifted the wine bottle and filled his own glass, then went to hers and refilled it, too.
“I’m just not sure what to say. What are you doing here?”
“Well...I moved back a couple months ago. I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to call you—”
