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spoke. That insecurity thing again, the unexpected vulnerability.
    “Did they like the gig?” she asked.
    “They did,” he said, hesitantly.
    “And did they like the new stuff?”
    He laughed now. “Yes, yes. They liked the new stuff.”
    “And are you getting worked up about something that’s really pretty damned good?”
    “Okay, okay,” he said. “You can stop now. You’ve made your point. It’s just...”
    “‘Just’?”
    “We’re going to have to be careful, Emily. We’re going to have to be discreet.”
    “I know. We are.”
    And that tackled her own insecurity: he wasn’t backing away, they were going to have to be careful, that was all. Because they were clearly going to continue with this thing.
    §
    “And you’ve heard nothing from Thom today?” asked Marcia.
    She’d texted Marcia earlier and arranged to meet for lunch. There was so much spinning around inside her head, and Marcia was her person, the one who would listen without judging, the one who would understand. Now they were sitting in a booth in a bar near Emily’s office. Marcia was looking glamorous and skinny as ever, her black hair bobbed and shaped around her face.
    “No. Just those two odd texts yesterday evening, and then his message to you. I’m going to have to face him later, though, and I really don’t know how I’m going to handle that.” Her husband. Thom .  He would read everything on her face the instant she walked through the door. The excitement. The guilt. The deceit.
    “Do you even have to go back?”
    She hadn’t thought of that.
    “It’s my home.”
    “You’re going to have to deal with that some time.” Marcia was talking about Emily’s marriage as if it was over. Which it was. They just hadn’t put that out in the open yet, her and Thom.
    Emily took a long sip from her glass of wine. Chardonnay, chosen because it would remind her of the Pouilly-Fuissé Ray had ordered at L’Auberge. “That doesn’t make it any easier, though.”
    Marcia waggled her head from side to side. “Fair point,” she said. “Better now than in three years’ time, though. That’s what I say, anyway.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So anyhow,” she said. “What’s the goss’? Are you going to tell me what happened?”
    Emily opened her mouth to speak, then stopped herself. She didn’t want to devalue this thing with Ray. Turn it into an item of gossip, a round of bragging over wine and a Caesar salad.
    “Did he really take you to L’Auberge?”
    Emily nodded. “He did.”
    “And how was it? Not that this is like getting blood out of a stone or anything.”
    “It was... unexpected.”
    Marcia studied her closely, as if sensing something different about her. She reached out and put her hand on Emily’s. “You’re not... you’re not falling in love , are you?”
    Emily narrowed her eyes and gave her friend a hard look, but said nothing.
    “You are! ”
    “I don’t know what I am,” said Emily, finally. “At times I think it’s just a big adventure and before I know it’ll just be a memory. And at other times I think... well, I don’t know what I think. But there are moments. Lke when he just held me this morning. He wouldn’t let me get into the car until he’d held me like that. It wasn’t a sex thing, it was something else. Something more. And then when Ronnie took me aside and told me Ray doesn’t do things like this, that he doesn’t go falling in love–”
    “‘Ronnie’? Who’s Ronnie?”
    “Oh, a friend of Ray’s. We stayed at his place last night.” Then she leaned forward, finally giving into the urge to share. “Lionel Ronson. He was such a sweetie, you wouldn’t believe it!”
    It took a lot to take the wind out of Marcia’s sails, but mention of Lionel Ronson was enough. After a second or two with her mouth sagging open, she took a breath and said, “You’re telling me you stayed at Lionel Ronson’s place last night? You’re kidding me.”
    Emily smiled