Page 3 of This Time Around
“We want different things out of life,” she’d told him back then.
“Not really,” he’d replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “We just have different ideas about how to get there.”
“So what are we having for dinner?” Wade asked, jarring Allie back to the present.
“Seafood en brodo with tarragon pesto,” she said. “And bourbon-roasted peach cheesecake for desert.”
“Pulling out all the stops.”
Allie shrugged, not wanting to admit how much thought she’d given the menu. How she’d remembered their sophomore year in college when she and Jack dug change out of the overstuffed sofa to find enough gas money to drive to the coast. They’d rolled up their pant legs and walked barefoot in the sand, digging clams until they had enough to fill their small red bucket. Later, they’d nestled together in an ocean of pillows on their living room floor, licking butter from their fingers in the flicker of candlelight.
“The meal is no big deal,” Allie said as she pulled out her phone to review the evening’s menu for the millionth time. “I just needed something I could make in advance. “The brodo, the pesto, the dessert—I did it all last night. All I have to do is heat it up, add the shellfish, and drizzle in the pesto.”
“I grabbed a loaf of that bread you asked for. The crusty stuff.” Wade reached over to tousle her hair. “You’ll do fine, Albatross. Stop worrying.”
Albatross. Wade had given her the nickname several years ago after Allie threw in the towel on yet another relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. Allie Ross the Albatross, the bird who’d rather fly alone.
It wasn’t entirely true, but Allie had liked the way it made her sound strong and independent instead of like a loser whose romantic aspirations never turned out the way she thought they would.
“Go get ready,” Wade said, and Allie looked up, startled to realize they’d arrived at her small, shoebox-shaped duplex already. “I’m sure you need to preen before your long-lost ex arrives, and I want to spend a couple minutes texting with Francesca.”
“Who?”
“My date from last night.”
“I thought her name was Vanessa.”
Wade waved a hand. “Something like that.”
Allie hustled inside and threw her bag down on the bed, grateful to have a few minutes to herself before Jack and Paige showed up. She glanced at the antique clock on her wall, calculating the primp time required to craft an image that said, “My life’s fantastic! How about yours?”
She only had an hour, so she’d settle for, “I’m fine, thanks. Pass the wine?”
She wriggled into her Spanx, then zipped herself into a sheath dress in plum silk. The color brought out the green in her eyes, and the cut showed her Pilates-toned arms while assisting the Spanx in hiding her not-so-toned tummy.
There was no hiding the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, so she didn’t bother trying. Her hair still looked good, long and loose around her shoulders with caramel highlights she’d gotten at the nearby beauty college because it was cheaper than the fancy downtown salon she’d frequented in her other life.
The life her wealthy parents had wanted her to have.
Allie turned and surveyed herself in the mirror. Sucked in her stomach. Turned to the side. Not bad. Not fantastic, but not terrible. She’d aged pretty well in the sixteen years since she’d last seen Jack Carpenter, all things considered.
Things, meaning her parents’ arrest and imprisonment, a career path that hadn’t gone according to plan, and a love life that never seemed to match the one she’d always imagined.
Allie turned again in front of the mirror, swaying a little on heels she’d almost forgotten how to walk in. Back in college, she expected to strut into courtrooms on her Louboutin stilettos, then kick them off at home so her handsome husband could rub her feet by the fireplace.
Her little house didn’t have a fireplace. And though she loved lobbying and planning and developing public health policy in her role as a Certified Association Executive for a state medical association, she knew the job title itself sounded made-up, and that heels were too impractical at her standup desk.
Allie swept some bronzer over her cheeks, then stabbed herself in the eye with an eyeliner pencil. Started over. Her hands kept shaking, and she cursed herself for giving a damn what Jack Carpenter and his wife thought of her. In sixteen years, she’d never once Facebook stalked him. She hadn’t cared, or at least that’s what she thought before she got his stupid email about coming to town for his reunion.
“Hey, Albatross,” Wade called from the other room. “A car just pulled in. I think it’s them.”
Allie took a deep breath and stepped back from the mirror. Showtime.
She turned and pushed open her bedroom door and strode down the hall, projecting a confidence she didn’t really feel. If nothing else, she knew how to fake it. That had always been her superpower, the skill that proved more useful than any law degree would have.
Wade gave a low whistle as she marched into the living room. “Lookin’ good,” he said from his perch on her sofa. He shoved his phone in the pocket of his jacket and stood. “Want me to hover possessively beside you, or go fiddle around in the kitchen like a devoted fiancé?”
“Just hang back,” Allie said as footfalls echoed up her front steps and she wished, not for the first time, that she had a peephole on her front door. She hated the clamminess in her palms as the footsteps got louder. “If I signal you by tugging my left ear, it means lay it on thick with the affection. If I signal you by tugging my right ear, play it cool.”
