Page 5 of The Woman Left Behind

“Fine,” he answered.

I bustled to the coffee maker.

“How do you take it?” I asked, opening the top of the Nespresso to drop a pod into it.

“Isn’t that coffee expensive?” he asked in return.

I glanced over my shoulder at him on another shrug. “I allow myself a few splurges.”

Like the Nespresso. And a walk to Aromacobana nearly every day. And fresh-cut flowers.

Seeing me in my environment, you wouldn’t know I didn’t have a lot. I’d learned to make it stretch. But everything around me, all that was me, had been the result of sixteen years of hard work, sacrifice, and penny-pinching.

I was good now. Comfortable, not rolling in it.

But it had been one very long row to hoe.

“Right,” he grunted, giving me the impression he approved of me allowing myself a few splurges, just as long as they were a few, as in, within my means, at the same time he really hated the fact he approved of that.

Yes, I read all of that in a one-syllable grunt.

I just didn’t know what to make of it.

“Just a little bit of cream,” he belatedly answered my question.

I nodded and grabbed a mug, then went to the fridge to get some cream.

I’d dolloped “just a little bit of cream” in his mug, and when the Nespresso started chugging, I turned back to him.

He was standing by my farmhouse table, contemplating Jenna’s flowers.

“I got those from Jenna’s,” I told him.

His head pitched up like he was surprised anyone was there and his regard returned to me.

“At Mistery Flowers and Gifts,” I went on.

“They’re pretty,” he replied, again begrudgingly, like he didn’t want to admit it.

“She has an incredible garden and greenhouse. Most of her flowers come from her own grows,” I informed him.

“Mm,” he hummed, provoking another improper physical reaction from me.

I was thinking that I shouldn’t be talking about Jenna and her greenhouse, considering he’d agreed to a cup of coffee, which meant he expected to be here for a while on whatever business he had (and yeah, I was in deep denial about part of that business, then again, I had a ton of practice putting myself in that space).

I also suspected he was a busy guy and didn’t have a lot of time to chat about flowers with a strange woman.

So I decided to help him get on with it.

“You mentioned Willie?”

After I voiced this question, I watched with some fascination as his entire being morphed from whatever he was experiencing in my house, back to something it was easy to read was far more comfortable to him.

Law enforcement officer.

“Your husband has several warrants out for his arrest.”

I nearly rolled my eyes because this did not surprise me about Willie.

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