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“For not being a better friend ... a better part ofus.”

He laughed, sipped his margarita. “You didn’t love me the way I loved you. It wasn’t your fault; it just was.”

“Thank you for understanding and for still being my friend.”

“Always, Vera. I will always be your friend.”

Their food was served, and they ate. By the time dinner was over, Eric had told her about a new friend. A lovely woman—he had dozens of photos on his phone—who made him happy. Vera was thrilled for him.

Eric suddenly frowned. “We should have called Bent over. Now he’s gone.”

Vera glanced in that direction. He was right. Bent was no longer at the bar. She looked around. Not in the dining room.

“I’ll let him know we got busy catching up and lost track of time.” She smiled at her friend. “He’ll understand.”

“He’ll do a hell of a lot more than that if he’s smart.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You are an amazing woman, Vera. He would be very lucky to have you.”

Vera laughed. “On that note, I think we should call it a night.”

They reminisced a bit more while he settled their tab, and then he walked her to her SUV. They hugged, and for a split second Vera wished again that things had been different.

But there were no true do-overs. There was only moving on.

In her rearview mirror she watched him watching her as she drove away, her detail right behind her. Eric had insisted he wanted to walk back to his hotel. To get a little air, he’d said. Vera powered her window down. She needed a little air herself.

26

Boyett FarmGood Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 9:30 p.m.

Fayetteville was a small town. Only a few minutes were required to reach the road that led to her farm. But she was exhausted by the time she’d unlocked the door and taken care of the alarm. It had been a long, emotional day. And she could not wait to crawl into bed and put it behind her. At least as much of it as her traitorous mind would allow.

Thinking about Bent at that damned bar, when he knew she and Eric were going to that restaurant, was slipping deeper and deeper under her skin. The reality that Solomon refused to speak with anyone but her ... the fact that he was dying ... burned on the fringes of her thoughts.

She didn’t have a freaking clue why the news that he was dying would disturb her, but it did.

“You are so screwed up,” she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs.

Despite the desire to go to bed without doing her nightly routine, she forced herself to go through the steps. Forty was almost here, and she needed to do all within her power to avoid more wrinkles and age spots. She tucked her hair up with a claw clip, scrubbed her face with the gritty stuff all the best influencers recommended, and then rinsed repeatedly. She followed with a moisturizer that had cost far too much.

“You’re worth it,” she said to her reflection, then rolled her eyes. “Yeah right.”

Her blouse and slacks went in the hamper. The bra too. Rather than a sweatshirt or sweater and jeans, she had actually made an effort to dress up tonight. Since moving back home, she hadn’t done a lot of that. She was back to being just a plain old country girl. All she needed was a cow to milk and chickens to feed, and life would be perfect. She tugged on her nightshirt and hugged her arms around Bon Jovi’s face.

She dropped her cell onto the charging pad on the bedside table, then collapsed onto her bed and dragged herself onto the pillows. She moaned. God, it felt good to lie down. She pulled the clip from her hair and tossed it in the direction of the bedside table.

Her cell vibrated.

“No,” she grumbled into her pillow.

Reaching out without even looking, she grabbed her cell and pulled it to her. She forced her eyes open and stared at the screen.

Bent.

She tapped the screen to accept the call. “What?” she grumbled.

“I’m at your door.”

Adrenaline swam through her veins, as if she were seventeen again and he was waiting for her to sneak out to him. “Why? Did something happen?” She sat straight up, pushed the hair out of her face.