by Kait Nolan
“Nerve?” Delia snorted. “Why would it take nerve? You know I would have taken your call any day.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it felt three years ago.” His eyes held a challenge, and she found she couldn’t meet it.
“Three years ago I was in love with my husband and we were still practically newlyweds, and you were a total jerk to him.”
“Which turned out to be well-deserved, right?”
Delia glared. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged, and took a drink of his wine.
“God damn it. You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
No answer.
Delia wracked her brain. There were only so many people who had known she was signing divorce papers today, and Cole only knew so many of those. “Jenna! You’ve been talking to Jenna, but not to me?”
She was seriously hurt. Cole and Jenna had never been close. They’d both been close to her, but they ran with opposite crowds in college. Delia was the link between them. So why had neither of them told her they were keeping contact?
“Don’t be mad. I just call her sometimes and get an update...and she called me about the divorce.”
“Why would she do that?” Why did everyone feel the need to intrude on what should be a private matter?
“She...she thought you’d like to see me. Thought it would do you some good. Show you there’s a life outside of that dickwad Shaun.”
“Oh, really?” Delia’s eyes narrowed as she considered that comment. “Like I don’t know there’s life beyond him?” she challenged. But it sounded exactly like Jenna; nosy and into everyone’s business.
“Are you mad I came?” he asked.
“No.” She wasn’t sure what she thought. It had been a big day.
And her phone pinged—again. She almost didn’t want to look.
CRAIG: You are so beautiful. Thanks for being mine.
A chill ran through her. If she didn’t have an audience, she would have thrown her phone.
“What’s wrong?” Cole asked.
“Oh, just a last parting gift from my ex.”
Delia showed him the phone, standing too close to him while she did. Close enough that she could smell his cologne, and it smelled far too good.
“Who’s Craig?” Cole asked, understandably confused.
“No one. He is apparently a ‘virtual boyfriend.’ Shaun put it on my phone. So I could learn to communicate better or some such.”
“Bullshit,” Cole said. “He did it to screw with you because he’s a dick.”
“Like you always said…”
“I’m not trying to rub it in.”
Delia wrapped her arms around her front, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden.
“Who decided on the divorce?” he asked softly. Kindly. Like he was worried she’d crack and fall to pieces in front of him.
She wouldn’t. No way in hell.
“I did.” Delia lifted her head defiantly.
“Good. He was never any good for you—”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” She took a deep breath, but it shuddered audibly as she did, and she didn’t want him to know how much the divorce bothered her.
The second divorce.
Cole had told her not to marry her first husband as well.
She’d never listened to his advice when it came to her love life, but he’d always seen her boyfriends, and her husbands it turned out, more clearly than she had.
“So...you keep getting those texts?”
“Yeah, I don’t really know what he did. It was just this afternoon.”
“Here,” Cole said as he pulled out his phone. “What’s the name of the company?”
“Virtual Match.”
He looked it up, and she couldn’t keep herself from watching him as he did.
She didn’t want to admit it, but she had missed him.
For a couple of years now she’d felt betrayed. After all, he chose to avoid her after he decided he didn’t like her husband. But they’d been friends so long before Shaun that she couldn’t understand why he just stopped talking to her.
It was cruel.
There was a time when Cole knew everything about her. When she barely had a thought before he caught onto it.
She couldn’t help but remember all of the late-night study sessions as they caught up on classes they’d ignored while partying too hard. The walk-and-talks as they digested whatever stupid thing their friends had just done. The handholding when they’d had just a little too much…
“Huh. Virtual Match. ‘Get the connection without the commitment.’”
Delia rolled her eyes. “Great. But how do I get rid of him?”
“Him?” Cole looked confused.
“It. Him. Whatever.”
He tapped his screen, and read for a second. “It isn’t an it, after all. This app connects you with a person, someone paid to text and chat with you.”
A live person? She’d assumed it was a machine working off a script. Having never met this Craig, the over-the-top personal comments like “thanks for being mine” didn’t make any sense. Had Shaun opened her up to a creep? Perfect.
“Looks like you have to talk to customer service to cancel, and they’re not open again until Monday morning.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll be getting these texts all weekend?”
He nodded, his gray-blue eyes meeting hers. “Looks like it. Sorry.”
“It’s not your deal. Just one more way for Shaun to try to keep me thinking about him.”
Cole picked up his wine and took a sip. He still had almost a full glass, while she was thinking about gulping hers back and pouring another. Her shoulders were tight, despite the calming shower a while ago.
She was glad Cole was here. She shouldn’t be. If there was ever a time to be alone, it was right after signing your divorce papers. She shook her head—actually being alone was probably the worst idea right now. But maybe hanging with a girlfriend or something, not with Cole.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, pinning her with his eyes.
“That I’m glad to see you. And that this probably wasn’t the best day for you to come.” She smiled, hoping he wouldn’t take her words as harsh.
“I can go if you like. Maybe we can talk next week?”
Delia took that gulp of wine she’d been thinking about, and then set her glass down and ran palms that had suddenly grown sweaty over her thighs. “No. Stay. I want to catch up. Drink your wine, though—you’re making me feel bad.”
He grinned. “Don’t feel bad. If you go too crazy, I’ll hold your hair. It’ll be like old times.”
“Haha. Lift your glass, sir.” She held hers up to him. “Here’s to freedom. Salud.”
His expression sobered as his glass clinked against hers. “Salud.” He took a drink.
Delia set her glass aside, her palms sweaty again.
“Do you have food? I can cook, you know.”
“I remember.” Delia nodded. “I don’t have a lot.”
“I could go get us something.”
Delia groaned, and tugged a hand through her hair. Oh, how did she forget? “No. You can’t. I shouldn’t have a man here tonight. My divorce is just final, and Dad—”
“I don’t want to hear about your father’s career. I don’t care.” Cole’s eyes flashed. “It’s not like we’re anything more than friends.”
That stung though it was perfectly true. There had been so many moments, over the years, when they could have been something more. It had never been the right time. And now was definitely not the right time.
“But still...if they come out with a story, I do not want it to include how I moved on to another guy before the ink on the divorce papers could dry.”
He held up his hands. “I hear you. We’ll stay in, and I’ll leave before it gets late enough to generate uncomfortable questions.”
She hoped no one had noticed his presence. Maybe if they stayed in, no one would.
Delia went to the
pantry cupboard and started rummaging. Cole stood behind her and perused the contents.
“There!” he said. “I’ll make pasta.” He nudged her to the side and she watched as he pulled out pasta, olive oil and herbs and gathered them on the counter.
“I have some veggies in the fridge.”
“Pasta primavera it is.” He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. She pulled out two cutting boards and took her turn for a hand wash. She wasn’t sure if it was good to have him here or not, but having a task to occupy her hands felt better than just standing around staring at him.
“This is going to be good,” Cole said with a grin. His tone was brighter at the mention of food, and Delia rolled her eyes. But worrying about food was better than worrying about her second divorce.
Side by side, they chopped and sautéed. Soon a delightful combination of smells filled the condo. It was a recipe for instant happiness.
Before long they were actually talking, instead of all the awkwardness.
“Where are you working now?” Delia asked him as she added zucchini and mushrooms to the sauté.
“Like you know the architecture firms in town?” Cole snickered. “Duchman and Lee. We focus on civil engineering and architecture.” He popped a piece of red pepper in his mouth.
“The company building the Washington Street Bridge?”
His eyes went wide. “And you accuse me of checking up on you?”
“What? I didn’t know you worked there, so I couldn’t be checking up. It’s a major government contract. I keep track of the big ones.”
“Ah,” he breathed, the sound making the hairs on the back of Delia’s neck stand up. “For work?”
“Yes. I’ve been a government affairs correspondent for a couple of years now.”
“Fits well with the family background.”
“Fits my skills,” Delia shot back.
Cole whistled. “You sound sensitive. I was just saying that it’s pretty convenient for your dad to have you in the newsroom.” He reached over and snagged an olive off Delia’s cutting board.
She didn’t dignify that comment with a response. Instead she said, “You’re sure snacking a lot.”
“I always eat while I cook. That’s why I offer to cook.” He tilted his head and gave her his cheesiest smile.
“You haven’t changed,” Delia remarked.
Cole rinsed off the knife and cutting board and set them aside. He turned to face her, resting his hip casually against the countertop. He crossed his arms. “Sure I have.”
His stance made Delia uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to call him out. It wasn’t that he was immature or anything. He’d always been a great guy. “I’m glad you haven’t changed too much,” she said softly.
Her phone rang in the other room. It was the family ringtone, so she brushed past Cole and went to grab it.
“Mom? Hey,” she answered.
“Delia, I’m glad you answered. I can’t get through to your dad.”
“He’s doing the keynote at a physicians conference in town today.”
“I’m calling about Grandma Elle. She’s been checked into Mercy General—”
“What? I just saw her this morning. What happened?”
“She’s having tests, but it looks like a small stroke.” The tears that jumped to Delia’s eyes echoed the ones she could hear in her mother’s voice. Grandma Elle was her maternal grandmother, and her mom was very close to her.
Mother was difficult to get along with, but her love for her own mother was a soft-spot Delia had always shared.
“She’s at Mercy? Where are you?”
“I’m in the waiting room.” Her voice cracked, and Delia could feel her trying to keep it together.
“I’ll be there soon. You grab a coffee or something and then sit tight, okay?”
Delia hung up the phone and looked up to find Cole staring at her. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Grandma Elle is in the hospital. Look—”
“You need a ride. Too much wine. Let’s go.”
He got it, instantly. Thank god, because the words were drying up in Delia’s throat. Grandma Elle couldn’t die—she wasn’t ready for life without her. She blinked back tears and grabbed a light jacket from the closet.
Cole turned everything off in the kitchen and moved their sauté into a bowl in the fridge, and met her at the door, keys in hand.
Chapter Four
Mercy General smelled like every other hospital in the land: antiseptics over lingering illness, with the occasional whiff of flowers or overripe body odor.
The idea of Grandma Elle stuck in one of these rooms made Delia shudder. She went to the reception desk as they came through the front doors, Cole hanging back to give her privacy.
She retrieved the room number and waved Cole over to the elevators.
“You don’t mind if I come along?”
Oh, sheesh. The divorce. Today.
“You gave me a ride, for gosh sake.” Delia blew her hair out of her face as the elevator doors closed behind them, and the thing started up with a lurch that made her belly jump. “You’re right, Mom’s probably going to ask questions.”
“So we’ll say I just stopped by.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Delia said, giving him a perplexed look.
“Exactly.”
The doors opened, and a nurses’ station was just ahead.
“Where’s the waiting room nearest to 334?” Delia asked. The nurse on duty pointed the way, and Cole fell into step beside her.
Mom stood as Delia approached, clutching a tissue in her hand. She shot a confused look at Cole, but addressed Delia. “She’s not back from the tests yet, and they asked me to wait here.”
“I’m sure it’s going fine, Mom. She’s so healthy—they’ll tell us if we need to worry.”
“What do we do until then?”
Cole cleared his throat. “Mrs. Harris, have you eaten? Let me run down to the cafeteria for you.”
“Cole, it has been a long time, and I didn’t expect to see you here today. Sorry—I am not at my best.”
“Nice to see you again. Now how about a sandwich?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her in an obvious attempt to make her laugh, which worked, much to Delia’s surprise.
Mom sighed and reclaimed her seat. “If they have turkey, with no cheese, that would be great. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Cole nodded to Delia as she took the seat next to her mother. Then he headed back toward the elevators. “How long have you been here, Mom?”
“Hours,” she breathed. She fanned herself with a Guideposts magazine she’d been reading.
Where Grandma Elle was elegant and fine-boned, both of her daughters were built like steel towers. Mom’s hair was gray, streaked with the occasional remnant of black, and she was dressed in a business suit although she had never held a job in her adult life.
The mayor’s wife—it was a social occupation all its own, and one that suited Mother well.
“So…” she started in. “What is Cole Samson doing here?”
“He stopped by earlier, and was in the middle of making me pasta when you called.”
“He was making you dinner?” She said it like the act of making dinner was tantamount to having sex on the table.
An image of Cole on top of her on the table thrust itself into Delia’s mind, and she blinked, hoping her mother wouldn’t make anything of the blush rising into her cheeks.
Get a grip, Delia.
“I didn’t think the two of you spoke anymore.”
Great. Did they really have to talk about this? “It had been a while.”
“Pretty much your whole marriage.”
Delia was surprised her mother had noticed that. She didn’t seem to keep close track of Delia’s friends, besides to tell her occasionally that she didn’t believe one of them was worth her precious daughter’s time.
“And he just shows up, today?” Mother continued.
“Jenna
told him about the divorce,” Delia admitted. There was nothing wrong with seeing an old friend. Maybe if she was honest with Mother she would just drop it.
The elevator doors opened down the hall, and they wheeled out a white-sheeted bed with a small figure atop it.
Delia pointed, and stood, taking her mother’s hand and clutching it tight. “Here she comes.”
Neither of them breathed as they waited for the nurses to get Grandma Elle into bed.
She looked so small.
The pendant felt warm against her chest, and Delia looked down. Was it glowing?
A trick of the light.
Mother’s hand tightened on hers, and she looked up. Grandma Elle was waving weakly at them.
Delia braved a smile, and they both entered the small hospital room to stand between Grandma Elle’s bed and the TV hung up in the corner. As if Grandma Elle would be watching TV. But apparently they didn’t make library/hospital rooms. That would have been perfect.
“How long are you in for?” Delia found herself saying. She clenched her teeth, but her mother chuckled and Grandma Elle laughed out loud.
“Good question.” She shifted on the bed, and Delia helped her adjust the pillows. “We need to wait for test results. Sounds like I’ll be here at least a couple of days.”
“Well, I am going to bring you a book or three tomorrow. I know you can’t survive long without a book.” Why did she phrase it that way? Like she had to mention survival?
Mother took a seat in the only visitor’s chair that fit in this tiny room. It was just as well, because Delia didn’t feel like sitting down.
Grandma Elle reached out to touch the pendant Delia wore, and Delia could have sworn it vibrated at the contact. “You’re wearing it. Good girl.” She stared into Delia’s eyes. She wanted to say something…
“What is that?” Mother asked suspiciously, leaning in from her chair to consider the necklace she’d apparently only just now realized her daughter was wearing. “Why is she wearing your garnet? I know I told you I didn’t want—”
Grandma Elle ignored the question and spoke over her daughter. “You are still here, Patty?”
Mother glared. “Of course I am still here. I was hoping you’d be able to leave today.”
“I had a stroke, dear. I am not going anywhere tonight.” She gave her daughter a stubborn look. “I’m not dying, either.”
