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another example of you getting involved?”
    Lauren pressed a hand to her heart. “Only because I care.”
    Jane shook her head and rang up her order. With the friends and family discount, because, well, Lauren
did
care. “I don’t have a love life. I don’t have time.”
    Lauren nibbled another sample. “That’s an excuse.”
    Maybe
.
    “Don’t you want a relationship?” Lauren continued.
    “I have relationships. I have Aidan. My dad. My friends. You.” If she let herself want other things, where would she be? Making the same old terrible mistakes. She could raise her son, she could run her business, she could manage her life on her own.
    “What about sex? You must miss sex.”
    “I barely remember it,” Jane said.
    Probably just as well.
    She’d loved sex once—the flush of attraction, the feelingof closeness, the thrill of the forbidden. But somewhere along the way, sex had gradually become a chore.
    Travis had barely seemed to notice when she wasn’t in the mood anymore. Or maybe by that point he hadn’t cared. He certainly hadn’t bothered to hide his disgust that the eager, curvy nineteen-year-old he’d married was now tired and bloated all the time.
Jesus, Janey, you really let yourself go
, he’d say, reaching for her.
    Her shoulders rounded, remembering.
    Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Jane, did Travis ever hurt you—abuse you—that way?”
    Jane blinked. Despite all the books Lauren pressed on her, she’d never identified what Travis did to her as abuse. As—what did they call it?—marital rape.
    It was just something necessary and unpleasant to get through, like scrubbing behind the toilet in the bathroom. Something she needed to do to keep the household running. Even when you were exhausted from work, or heavy with pregnancy, you still had to get down on your knees.
    “No,” she said.
Not really
.
    “Because if you ever want to talk about it . . .”
    Ha
. “It’s not an issue.”
    “But it could be,” Lauren said.
    Jane shook her head. “It’s not like there’s a line of available single men knocking at my door.” Or her father’s door, since she lived with him and her seven-year-old son. Which made the possibility of her ever having sex again in this lifetime even more remote. “If my dad doesn’t scare them off, then Aidan does. Most men who want to get married aren’t looking for a package deal.”
    Lauren made a humming sound. “You know, not every relationship has to lead to love and commitment. Sometimes sex is all about the chemistry.”
    That’s how Lauren’s relationship with Jack had started, Jane remembered. A rebound relationship for him, a summer fling for her. She glanced at Lauren’s shiny new engagement ring and smiled. “How’s that working out for you?”
    Lauren laughed. “Okay, sometimes chemistry can turn into something more. Which proves you should be open to possibilities.”
    Jane rolled her eyes. “What possibilities? We live in a fishing village with a year-round population of one thousand eight hundred and some. The good guys, guys like the Fletchers or Sam Grady, are all taken. Or they move away.”
    Lauren nibbled on another sample. “There’s your old boss at the restaurant. Adam? He’s hot.”
    “Do you know what the divorce rate is among chefs?”
    “Okay, what about Nick at the firehouse? I’ve seen him in the weight room. Nice pecs.”
    “I’m not going out with a guy who looks better in a wet T-shirt than I do. Besides, he’s five years younger than me.”
    “I’m six years younger than Jack.”
    “That’s different.”
    “Ah ah.” Lauren waggled a finger. “Let’s not fall into traditional gender stereotypes.”
    Jane bent her head, carefully counting out change. She knew all about stereotypes. By now she should be used to being dismissed on account of her appearance. Even her friends sometimes looked at her and saw . . . What? Baker Barbie. As if because she spoke with a drawl and spent her time baking