A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

“Aren’t you lonely? Ever? Don’t you miss having a man in your life?”

Yes, of course. But the man she wanted was her husband. And if she couldn’t have him... Well, maybe she didn’t want to say she wouldn’t be interested in anyone ever, but it was too soon. Years too soon for her to be thinking about dating.

“I’m not ready,” she amended. “And if I were, I wouldn’t want to see Miguel. He’s too...”

“Handsome? Sexy? Experienced?”

“Yes. I want someone more...”

“Like you?”

“Maybe.”

“Then go find him. In the meantime, practice on Miguel. He can be your starter boyfriend.”

Pam drew back. “I’m too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Apparently not.” Shannon grinned. “So how was the kiss?”

Pam thought about the brief, warm pressure. “Nice,” she admitted.

“Any tongue?”

She groaned. “I swear I can’t take you anywhere.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“That I do.”

*

The detailed workings of advanced MRI screening machines required Zoe’s complete concentration. A little after eleven in the morning, she took a break. Mason was stretched out in the sun, basking, as he always did. She stepped over him and headed for the kitchen to make tea. While the water heated, she would walk around her backyard, which would almost qualify as exercise. Now that she was doing Pilates two days a week, she found herself thinking she should move more in her regular life.

She’d barely made it to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her cat. “Is that the UPS guy? Did you go online and order cat toys, young man? I thought we talked about that.”

Mason barely twitched an ear.

“I remember when you hung on my every word,” she joked as she pulled open the door. But instead of the UPS guy, Chad stood on her front porch. Chad whom she hadn’t seen since the stupid sex incident.

“Hey, Zoe.”

He was about six feet, with reddish-blond hair and a winning smile. She remembered how that smile had hit her when they’d first met, on the shoulder of the 405 freeway. Now, as she took in his familiar features, she braced herself for the onslaught of emotions sure to follow.

There was surprise—which was to be expected. A vague sense of why now, followed by...nothing. She inhaled and checked again. There was nothing.

“Chad.” She leaned against the door. “Why are you here?”

He wore a white T-shirt and jeans. Clothes he would change out of at work where he wore a uniform. She had always loved him in jeans and a T-shirt. They were sexy and so everyman. Today she would admit he looked good, but her heart wasn’t racing and she didn’t feel those low-in-the-belly tingles anymore. How unexpected. It seemed she might actually be over him.

“I want to talk,” he said. “Zoe, aren’t you going to let me in?”

Making him stand outside made more of a statement than she wanted, so she moved aside. Mason raised his head, stared at Chad for a second, then relaxed and closed his eyes, as if dismissing the man. Mason had always been an excellent judge of character.

Zoe deliberately sat in one of the living room chairs instead of the sofa. She didn’t want Chad too close.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

He frowned. “That’s kind of cold. Are you punishing me?”

“I’m working. You dropped by unexpectedly. We’re not involved anymore and I don’t know why you’re here so I’m asking what’s going on.”

“You’re still angry.”

“I’m not.” Far from it. She was kind of happy about her lack of reaction.

He sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands hanging loose. “I miss you. I miss us. I want us to get back together. Just tell me what that will take and I’ll do it.”

She crossed her legs. She hadn’t seen this coming and didn’t know what to do with the information. She wasn’t happy to hear any of it. There was no sense of relief or excitement. Yet more proof that she’d moved on.

Time really did heal. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe there hadn’t been that much to get over. Because looking back, she could see that she and Chad hadn’t had much of a relationship.

“Are you going to say something?” he asked impatiently. “You’ve left me hanging here.”

“What does get back together mean?” she asked, curious as to what he was offering. “You’d come over a few nights a week. We’d hang out, have sex, then you’d go back to your place?”

“What’s wrong with that?” His voice was cautious, as if he sensed a trap but couldn’t quite see it.

“Nothing. It’s what we always did.” She turned the information over in her head. “That’s all we did. We rarely went to the movies or even out to eat. We never traveled together.”

“It’s hard for me to get away. I have work and the kids.”

“Right, and they take all your vacation days. And it’s not as if I could have gone along. I mean, they barely knew me.”

He scowled. “Are you going to keep bringing that up? You’ve met them. Why isn’t that enough? They have to deal with the divorce. They’re still adjusting.”

She didn’t point out it had been almost two years. That whatever was happening between their parents, they were used to it now. Because this wasn’t about the kids. It never had been.

“We never had a relationship, Chad. That’s my fault as much as yours. We didn’t do anything together. We didn’t have couple friends. Our relationship was dinner and sex and very little else. I have no idea why I never saw that before.”

“Is this about getting married?” he asked, then shook his head. “You’re obsessed with getting married.”