When she unearthed her cell, though, it wasn’t her contractor friend on the line.
She really should’ve followed her initial post-divorce instincts and assigned Rob his own special ring tone. “Armor” by Sara Bareilles, maybe. Or if she wanted to go old school, Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” might’ve worked too. Either way, she’d know when to ignore her phone when it rang.
After seventeen years together and only two years since the divorce, too many aspects of their financial lives still involved each other. Complete avoidance wasn’t an option right now, but someday—some sweet, sweet day—she’d be able to block him entirely.
For today, she’d just pretend he hadn’t called.
Hands steady and cold as stone, she tucked her phone away again. When it dinged repeatedly with incoming text messages only seconds later, she didn’t flinch, and she didn’t check the screen again.
She raised her head. Karl was frowning down at her.
She frowned right back. “What? What’s wrong?”
“About to ask you the same thing.” Eyes narrowed, he studied her closely. “You look stressed, Dearborn.”
Did something about Harlot’s Bay make her especially easy to read? Or did Lise and Karl simply know her better and pay her closer attention than anyone else ever had?
She smiled, doing her best to radiate unruffled serenity. “I’m fine.”
His frown deepened into a glower.
“Uncommunicative pot, meet uncommunicative fucking kettle,” he muttered in what he undoubtedly—but incorrectly—believed to be a quiet voice.
Her occasional wary reserve wasn’t at all the same thing as his overall inability or unwillingness to communicate. But since she had no desire to discuss any subject even tangentially related toher ex-husband, she bit her tongue and resumed walking toward the Spite House.
Karl’s Crocs slapped the sidewalk in an agitated rhythm. Whenever people waved or greeted him, he simply nodded or grunted in response. And every time she glanced over at him, the lines in his forehead had deepened, and his lips had clamped into a thinner, tighter line.
“Listen, Dearborn.” Only half a block away from the Spite House, he abruptly halted. “Today’s exercise went off the rails. We both know it.”
As soon as she stopped beside him, he adjusted his position to block the late afternoon sun from her eyes. Because, for all his grumbling and terseness, Karl Dean paid attention. He cared. He alwaystried, even if he didn’t always speak.
“Kind of.” She laid a consoling hand on his sun-heated forearm, and all the remaining chill in her bones melted away. “But it started out really well.”
Today’s delicious lunch had confirmed just how much thought and effort he was willing to devote to something he considered important.Someonehe considered important.
Back in high school, she’d wanted to be his important someone. Maybe she still did.
“Didn’t end that way,” he countered, and she couldn’t argue with that. “You going to back out of our agreement, Dearborn?”
The pink-gold light haloed his head and turned his hair to copper. With her free hand, she smoothed a section ruffled by the waterside breeze, and the softness of the strands slipping through her fingers surprised her.
His breath hitched at her touch, and she smiled. This time, for real.
“No.” Her arm fell to her side, and she waited for him to touch her in return. “I’m a woman of my word.”
His shoulders dropped a fraction, and the hard muscles under her palm relaxed. “Good. Second activity will be better. Promise.”
She certainly hoped so. “Do you still want me to hang out at the bakery tomorrow?”
“Whenever you want.” His brown eyes bored into hers, and he spoke slowly to emphasize each word. “Long as you want. Always.”
Fumbling a bit, he lifted her hand from his forearm and pressed a kiss to her palm, and she had to suck in a deep, steadying breath as her knees went wobbly beneath her.
How such an awkward gesture could pierce her heart so deeply, she’d never know. But to her dismay, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only stare up at him, speechless.
Shaking his head, seemingly at himself, he lowered her arm to her side, let her go, and backed away a step. And with every inch between them, her thoughts cleared. Enough that she could muster a bit of shaky sass.
She spread her hands in feigned confusion. “What, no goodbye kiss on the lips?”
