She set a frame down, cutting her eyes at me. “And you think he’s changed his ways?”
I moved to the other tables, dropping the signs in the center of each one. “We’re not teenagers anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean we grow up.” Jenny pointed to her cotton-candy hair. “I mean, look at me. Who’d guess that I’m legal to drink?”
Anger started simmering. What did Jenny know about Gavin or how he might have changed? I smacked a couple more signs on the far tables.
“Don’t start getting upset, Corabelle. I’m only worried about you. The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve been crazy cautious, ignoring anyone who glanced your way.” She slid the last frame across the corner table, the one Austin used to sit at. “Now you’re jumping in with both feet. Just strikes me as sudden.”
She weaved through the chairs. “What do you really know about Gavin, as he is right now? People can change a lot in four years, especially after something like that.”
I had changed too. Jenny didn’t know that I was the one with everything to hide. But I’d crossed that line, just like Gavin told me to, and I wouldn’t think about it anymore. It didn’t matter now. My future would not be stolen.
“I don’t know what I’m risking here, exactly,” I said. Although I did. Another pregnancy. My heart. Another disaster.
“Okay. I get it. He’s worth it.” Jenny headed back to the counter as a family of four entered the shop. “I’ll be here if it turns out he isn’t.”
Dang it. Now I was blue. I walked to the back room to check on how many beans were ground and what desserts might have been delivered for the evening shift. I didn’t appreciate being dragged from my happy-cloud, but it had to happen sometime. Gavin and I had only been back together for a day. We hadn’t exactly been put to any tests.
•*´`*•*´`*•
Gavin opened his apartment door. “Breathe the fantastic aroma of my cooking,” he said.
I yanked the price tag off his immaculate oven mitt. “I have a feeling you’re new at this.”
“I’m hoping for beginner’s luck.”
I walked inside. The old smell of sweaty socks and gym equipment had been replaced with garlic and warm bread. “I stand corrected. Maybe you can cook.”
The living room was mostly clear of workout gear, and a tablecloth covered the crates that he used as a coffee table. On it was a fat candle and two mismatched plates. “Wine for my lady?” Gavin asked, handing me a plastic stemmed cup filled with something red.
“You’re outdoing yourself,” I said.
“Not really. It’s a frozen lasagna and store-bought garlic bread. But it’s a start.” He clinked his plastic cup against mine.
I sniffed. “Something might be burning.”
He stuck his wine glass on the shelf of a listing bookcase and hurried to the kitchen. I tried not to giggle.
Gavin brought out a cookie sheet with a loaf of garlic bread, blackened on the edges. “We can eat the middle,” he said.
“Absolutely.” I moved out of his way as he set the tray on the coffee table.
“Let me check on the lasagna.”
I followed him into the kitchen. He pulled the aluminum dish out of the oven. “Looks right,” he said.
“Let me see.” I picked up a spatula and poked the surface of the noodles. The edges were bubbly and soft, but the middle was still frozen solid.
“I wrecked it, didn’t I?” he asked.
“You can put it back in.”
“But the bread is done.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry. We can eat around the edges.”
Gavin went for the plates, and I pushed through the layers to find the thawed parts. He had a microwave at least, so we could heat up the pieces if necessary.
“I’m not used to cooking anything more than leftover pizza,” he said.
I plopped a lukewarm slice of lasagna onto one plate. “You did great.”
He handed me the second plate. “You were always diplomatic.”
“Just where you’re concerned.”
We returned to the living room. “Drink faster,” Gavin said. “Then everything will taste perfect.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I lifted my glass. “To making the best of things.”
Gavin picked up his cup. “To making the best of things.”
The dinner reminded me of those two months we’d lived together, other than the wine, which made me feel light and loose before we’d finished eating. When Gavin leaned back on the sofa, drawing me into him, I let out a happy sigh. “We’ve got this now,” he said. “It’s going to be like it should have been.”
My heart rebelled. “It will never be like that. Finn changed things.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Of course. But we’re here. We’re together. We can go on now.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or the mention of the baby, but suddenly I felt like weeping. I turned my face into Gavin’s shoulder, trying to bring back my happiness, to stay on his side of the line.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like he didn’t exist.”
I shook my head against his shirt. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk at all. Instead I put my hands on either side of his face, holding him firmly, and kissed him. Gavin knew the places to go to make me forget. I could hate him for leaving, for taking away my escape. But I had him now, and I didn’t have to do this alone any longer.