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They’ve agreed to meet at the restaurant and as Emma changes for dinner at the house, she takes her time, giving herself a chance to relax a little. Tom has texted to say that Brittany is spending the night with her friend again, which means Emma has got the house to herself, and she relishes it. She dons a lacy bra and matching thong and then slips into a short-sleeved, fairly low-cut yellow dress she knows Tom loves.
As soon as Emma steps inside the Spotted Horse—a few minutes ahead of schedule—she’s grateful they picked this spot. With its beamed ceiling, barnwood paneled walls, and dark wood tables, it always feels so inviting to her. The horseshoe-shaped bar is already fairly crowded with customers—it’s Friday night, after all—but the hostess leads her to a table by the window that’s removed from the fray. Emma takes a deep breath, exhales, and then breaks into agrin after noticing that the horse in one of the huge black-and-white photographs on the wall seems to be eyeing her intently. Clearly, he digs the dress, too.
Tom arrives just as Emma’s being served the glass of wine she ordered. Before the waitress leaves, he requests a Dewar’s on the rocks, and then kisses Emma softly on the lips.
“Man, I’ve so been looking forward to this,” he says, taking the seat opposite and running his eyes over her. There’s not a hint of his recent distractedness.
“Me, too,” she exclaims. “The end of this week felt a little crazy, both of us being out.”
“Agree, and much to my annoyance, it looks like I definitely have to head back to Chicago on Monday to seal the damn deal.”
She feels a twinge of disappointment, but work is work. “Well, let’s make the most of the weekend, then.”
Tom smiles, shrugs off his blazer, and drapes it on the back of his chair. “Agree. You know, part of me wishes we hadn’t decided to rent out the Block Island house this year. It’s got such a lonely-bachelor vibe, but at least we’d have it to escape to on Friday nights.”
“Oh, but I love being in our house here—and besides, it wouldn’t be nice to ditch Brittany every weekend.”
“True,” he says, with a lighthearted grimace. “And while we’re on the subject....” He reaches behind him and digs into the pocket of his blazer to withdraw a small box wrapped in silver and tied with white satin ribbon. “This is to say thanks for being such a good sport about Brittany.”
“Oh, Tom, you shouldn’t have.” And Emma means it. He doesn’t need to give her gifts, though she appreciates that he’sseen the effort she’s put in to making it work with his stepdaughter. “But thank you.” She gives the box a playful shake. “Should I open it now?”
“Definitely. It’s going to look great with that dress.”
After undoing the ribbon, Emma wiggles a finger beneath the ends of wrapping paper on the back of the package until the tape breaks away. Smiling in anticipation, she eases the black box out of the paper and sees it’s upside down.
“My, my,” she says, “what do we have here?”
She flips it over, and her breath catches as she sees the name on the front. David Yurman. The jewelry designer whose pieces she wore during her marriage to Derrick but not in the years since.
The designer she swore she’d never wear again.
