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“Because,” she explains, “she can’t write about a couple she didn’t fix! It would go against her marriage miracle worker image!” She claps her hands together gleefully. “It’s perfect, Max! She thinks she can manipulate us into fixing our marriage with her whole ‘isolation song and dance routine’ but we’ll show her she’s not as cunning as she thinks she is! Imagine her coming back from that horseback ride and us pretending the solo horseback ride she basically forced us to go on went horribly wrong. She’ll be so upset she’ll probably redouble her efforts to push us back together, but we’ll just keep pretending it’s not working. That she’s making things worse!”

Jill rubs her hands together, the gesture reminiscent of a super villain.

She’s crazy but I’ve always found her brand of crazy pretty sexy. Jill used to be obsessed with this line from a Reese Witherspoon movie about how the guy wanted to marry the girl so he could kiss her anytime he wants. Truth is, I think I partly married Jill so I could stare at her anytime I want to.

“So, what do you think?” Jill prompts.

Right. For a second there I forgot to think. Buuutt… now I’m back.

“I’m not sure…” I say carefully. “What will the rest of the retreaters think of us? That could be bad for my public image.” I'm not actually thinking about my public image. Just about Tucker. No way can I let him leave thinking he’s got a better marriage than me.

“Not any worse for it than the marriage tell all Dorothy is going to write,” Jill counters.

I hesitate. Jill narrows her eyes. “What are you not saying?” she demands, hands on her hips. Given the state her kiss left me in not too long ago, I find this blatant accentuation of one of my favorite asset’s of hers extremely distracting. Which must be why I hear myself admitting the embarrassing truth.

“Look, Jill, I really don’t want our marriage to look bad in front of your ex, okay?”

“Who? Tucker?” she exclaims in surprise.

“Do you have another ex at this retreat?” I ask dryly.

“No, of course not. It’s just…I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about.” She huffs out a laugh. “You do know Amelia is his third wife, right? They’ve been married all of six months.”

“Wait, really?” A laugh bubbles up inside my chest. “Six months? They’re basically newlyweds!”

“Uh, yeah. So that blissed out state won’t last.”

I level her with a look as a new thought occurs to me. “Wait, how do you even know that? Have you been keeping tabs on your ex-boyfriend?”

She rolls her eyes. “Uh, no. But I do have eyes and go to the grocery store—I’ve seen the headlines ofPeoplemagazine over the years. I couldn’t care less about Tucker. Did you really think I would?” She peers at me. “Were you…jealous?”

“Jealous?” I attempt a scoff, but end up going high-pitched instead, giving myself away. “Hey, you were jealous first,” I shoot back. “You actually thought I’d be interested in a 20-year-old girl. At least my jealousy was of a person in the right age range.”

Jill flushes. “Yeah, well, lots of men like younger women, Max. Nicholas Cage, Steve Martin, Hugh Hefner.”

“Are you really putting me in the same category as Hugh Hefner right now?”

The question breaks some of the tension building between us as we both laugh.

“Fine, of course you’re not Hugh Hefner,” Jill relents. “I guess I let my imagination get carried away.”

“Here I thought Hannah was the one with the overactive imagination,” I remark with a smirk.

“Yeah, well I think most women can let their imaginations take over when they’re already feeling vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” My smirk disappears. “Why on earth were you feeling vulnerable on the plane?”

Jill’s eyes pop wide like she’s just realized she revealed too much.

“Jill?” I press.

“Forget I said that,” she says quickly, turning to continue on toward our cabin. I reach over and grab her by the elbow.

“Jill, no, wait. I’m not going to just forget you said that. I already let the ‘leave the lights on’ comment go. I’ve used up my quota of letting things go for the day.” She blushes and looks away. “Jill,” I repeat, “why were you feeling vulnerable on the plane?”

She chews her lower lip for a beat, then bursts out, “Because I’m old, Max, okay? I’m 40, for goodness’ sake! I have wrinkles and the start of some varicose veins on my thighs and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to lose the five pounds that I’ve gained over the last few years and, and—the other night you didn’t even pay attention when I flirted with you in my cowgirl hat!” Shethrows her hands up, her lower lip wobbling with suppressed emotion.

I’m at a loss for words. The only thought running through my head: Is she crazy?