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Both 1.0 and 2.0 snickered at that one.
Okay, fine. If she was going to do this au naturel thing, she was really doing it. No touching up of makeup, no changing of clothes …
She pulled on her oldest tennis shoes. Let’s see what Jake Malone thinks of this Grace. Maybe he’d regret not picking up bar bunnies after all.
Or maybe not, someone whispered. Was it 1.0 or 2.0? She didn’t even know anymore.
She glanced at her watch. Twenty-four minutes until the food arrived. Could she make it to midtown by then?
Maybe. Hopefully.
She grabbed her purse, mentally gearing herself up to fight for a taxi if necessary. She didn’t really think Jake would describe her sexual noises on the website if she was late, but one never knew with that guy.
Grace opened the door with a smile on her face only to have the smile crack into a million pieces at the person on the other side.
“Hey Gracie.”
“Hi, Greg,” she croaked out.
He gave her the old familiar smile, but he looked … sad.
“Can I come in?”
No. Right? Was that the right answer? She desperately tried to call upon 2.0, but 2.0 was nowhere to be found.
It was just 1.0. The one who’d once wanted to walk down the aisle and have babies with this man.
Grace stepped aside. “Sure. Come in.”
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Grace asked as she mechanically pulled a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and poured them each a glass.
He accepted it, his fingers casually brushing hers like old times. And just like old times, she barely noticed.
“Got your address from your mom.”
“My mother is furious with you,” Grace said, frowning.
He dipped his head. “As she should be. But I told her my reason for coming, and she relented.”
“Great!” Grace said with a fake chipper smile. “Now you can tell me why you’re here.”
“I like the new place,” he said, ignoring her question and roaming around her living room. “It suits you.”
“Yeah, I’ve really found that the lack of other women’s panties agrees with me.”
She waited for the you’re-being-childish look that she was so used to. Or maybe even an exasperated Graaace, as though she were the one with the problem.
Instead, she saw him swallow, his head dropping so that his chin almost rested on his chest for several seconds before he nodded once.
Grace’s curiosity was piqued. No self-defense? No justification?
“How’s work?”
Grace almost smiled. How many times had they absently asked each other that question over the years? It was such a long-term-couple kind of thing to ask, usually with the expectation that the other person will respond with fine, because rarely was the workday any different than the previous day, or the one before that …
“Fine,” she replied.
