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house, driving the same broken-down truck, working part-time at the bait shop. His time for baseball was over, he evidently hadn’t gone back to further his education. He was stuck in a rut and blaming everyone else—her—for his lack of success.
    Shelby raised her hand and knocked on the smooth black door.
    Delilah answered within seconds as if she had been waiting on the other side for Shelby to show up.
    “You made it.” Delilah took a step back to allow Shelby to enter, then gave her a quick sisterly hug. “Come in, come in. Craig’s putting the final touches on dinner. Would you like a glass of wine?”
    “That’d be great. Thanks.” As much as she tried not to look in his direction, her gaze automatically slid to Ritt lounging on the couch. He had a beer balanced on one jean-clad knee. Remarkably enough, he looked as at home on the expensive black leather sofa as he did the worn-smooth floral chintz that his mother had owned since Shelby had known them.
    Ritt nodded in her direction, his gaze steady on hers. Shelby felt a shiver of familiarity run down her spine. Once she had a glass of wine, she peeled her gaze away from her husband and took a long, fortifying drink.
    “Did you say Craig is cooking?”
    Delilah nodded. “He loves to cook. It’s like his Prozac, which is fine with me.”
    Craig came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron over slacks and a loosened tie, and wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Everyone ready for a salad?”
    Ritt was instantly on his feet. Without even at glance at her, he made his way to the dining room. It seemed her husband was no more excited at having dinner with her than she was with him.
     
     
    Craig was a surprisingly fine cook. Arugula salad with raspberry vinaigrette, veal parmesan, tender pasta, and sweet tiramisu for dessert. But as enjoyable as the meal was, Shelby couldn’t get over the fact that she was once again seated across from her husband, his gaze focusing on everything but her.
    Shelby took another long drink of the sweet red wine. Somehow she’d lost count of how many glasses she’d had. But was she honestly expected to remember something so trivial when faced with the roguishly handsome visage of her husband?
    “Let’s take our coffee into the living room.”
    Ritt patted his stomach and to her dismay shook his head. “I should be getting home.”
    No, wait. That’s what she wanted. Ritt could go home, and she could stay and visit. “I don’t know about coffee, but I could use a refill.” She held up her empty wine glass as evidence.
    A look passed between Delilah and Craig.
    “What?”
    “You’ve had enough wine, Shelby.” Ritt’s words were quiet and kind. Exactly what she did not need from him.
    “What are you now, my mother?” She instantly regretted her words.
    “You didn’t eat much,” Delilah pointed out.
    Okay, so she hadn’t eaten that much, and she had downed her fair share of the wine…maybe a little more than. She felt warm and cozy, but she certainly wasn’t drunk.
    “Fine,” she said, proud that her words were strong and true and not as blurry as her mind felt at that moment. “Coffee in the living room it is.” What did it matter if she drank caffeine this late? With Ritt so close, she’d be up all night anyway.
    She pushed herself up from the table, grabbing the edge as the room gave a quick lurch.
    “Whoa.” Craig reached out a steadying hand, and Shelby resisted the urge to swat it away.
    “I’m fine.” She smiled.
    Delilah turned to Ritt.
    He gave a grim nod.
    “What?” Shelby asked.
    Craig gave her a smile, the kind a person bestowed on drunks and children. “Ritt’s going to drive you home.”
    “What? No. That is so not necessary.”
    “But it is,” Delilah chimed in.
    “Not.” Shelby crossed her arms in front of her, hoping that she wasn’t swaying as much as she felt she was. So she’d had too much to drink. She’d call a cab and…
    Randall didn’t have a cab company. She