Page 52

52

A couple hours later, seated in a hardwood booth, listening to Dean Martin classics with a curvy glass pitcher of water slowly disappearing between them, Noah allowed his shoulders to finally relax. “Want another piece of bread?”

“I do. But I could barely squeeze into this dress as it was.”

And don’t think Noah didn’t notice how fabulous she looked squeezed into that dress. He sliced off another piece of bread for himself as Gracie nestled back in her seat, her gaze sweeping across the room. “That old couple over there must recognize you,” she said with a smirk. “They keep whispering and looking this way.”

“Nope. That’s all for you.”

“Please.”

“It’s true. I met the husband in the bathroom. He couldn’t stop yammering about how much his wife loved your last book and how she’s read it so many times, the cover is falling off.”

“Now I know you’re lying. Nobody loved my last book. I didn’t even love my last book.” Gracie’s eyes peeked in their direction. “She’s waving at me.”

“Told you so.”

Gracie slowly lifted her hand and waved back.

Noah leaned across the table. “Put a nice lady out of her misery and just go over and say hi.”

Gracie’s eyes narrowed like she still thought this might be some sort of practical joke. But when the lady wouldn’t stop waving, she slid from the booth.

Noah watched her introduce herself to the couple. The woman waved her hands in grand gestures that Noah interpreted to mean how grand her love was for that book.

When Gracie returned to the booth a few minutes later, her cheeks looked flushed with equal parts embarrassment and satisfaction. “She loved my last book. She named a chipmunk they like to feed in their backyard after the lead character.”

Noah lifted his wine glass. “To your fans.”

Gracie laughed and raised her glass. “To the one of them that’s still left.”

“Hey, you know I’m still a fan. Pretty sure the FedEx lady is too.”

“The FedEx lady, I can believe. You? Not so much. Pretty sure my stories were never ‘up your a’ as Mayor Abe would say.”

Noah nearly choked on his water. “I’m sorry, up my what?”

“Alley. A.”

“I’d definitely advise sticking to the entire word if you’re going to use that expression.”

She laughed again. “I didn’t think it sounded right when I said it.”

“Let’s just hope that’s the last time you ever say it.” Noah grinned and lowered his glass, praying what he said next flowed as easily as the banter and water. “Gracie, don’t you think it’s time we talk about that game?”

Judging by the way Gracie squirmed in her seat, she knew exactly which game. “You mean for the memoir?”

“I mean for us.”

“I don’t know. Feels like the wounds from our marriage are finally scabbing over. Do we really want to make those wounds start bleeding all over again?”

“Pretty sure those wounds are infected, and the only way for them to ever heal is to expose them so they can get treated properly. Which is why I think it’s time for you to tell me your version of what happened.”

Gracie leaned back as the server set her plate filled with shrimp over pasta on the table, then handed Noah his plate full of spaghetti. After the server left, Gracie met Noah’s gaze. “All right. We can talk about the game, but only if we can agree on one thing.”

“I’m listening.”

“Whatever happens, whatever wounds we reopen, whatever purulent drainage splashes all over the table—”

“Maybe it’s time to switch to a different analogy while we eat our meal.”

“I want you to promise me one thing.” Her hazel eyes lifted from the pasta and hit him with a serious gaze. “We’re not leaving this restaurant until we order a slice of Death by Chocolate. I don’t care how tight my dress is by the end of the night.”

His shoulders relaxed as he reached for his fork. “Now that idea is definitely up my a.”