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into the café. I’d hardly seen her lately and we’d agreed to
spend an hour catching up.
    “Thanks for meeting me,” I said.
    “Of course. Although, I think that phone call
just confirmed my suspicions.”
    “Suspicions about what?”
    “Will. I think he’s spoiling you rotten,” she
noted, and took a sip from the coffee mug. “That was him,
right?”
    I gave her a knowing smile. “Caught.”
    “I figured. It’s getting serious, huh?”
    I slid my phone in my purse, eyeing her.
“What makes you say that?”
    Adrianne shrugged. “Kind of obvious, isn’t
it? Last weekend he took you to Seibert’s for a very expensive
dinner, followed by a play at an intimate little theater on
Melrose. Then a drive up the coast late the next morning for a
picnic lunch on the beach. The weekend before that he took you to
dinner at your favorite dive, where the atmosphere is cozy and the
food is good. Afterward he whipped out surprise tickets to a small
show at the Eleven Club to see a band you love.” She paused. “The
weekend before that—”
    “Okay. Enough!” I laughed.
    “I could go on and on. I’ve put all the
little details you’ve given me together to paint this picture of
what’s been going on. I dare you to tell me I’ve got it all
wrong.”
    I blushed and stared at the floor. Could I
deny it?
    Adrianne squinted. “So my assumptions are
true. Damn. I knew it. It’s serious.”
    I shrugged, my cheeks flushing. “Now there,
you’re wrong.” I shook my head, fumbling with my empty coffee mug.
“Will is just…a diversion.”
    “No. This all adds up to something.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You’re moving on.” Adrianne sat up
straighter, her serious tone scaring me. “I’m glad you’re moving
on, Michaela. It’s about damn time. And he’s a great guy to move on
with. Am I off-base about that?”
    I’d avoided thinking about how or why I’d
gotten involved with Will. I tried to avoid thinking about our time
together as anything but having fun.
    “Better grab him before someone else does,”
Adrianne warned.
    “No, it’s…it’s not like that. This isn’t
going anywhere. It can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    I shook my head, my eyes focused on the
floor. “I don’t love him,” I murmured. I can’t.
    The words sounded cruel, but I had no desire
to love another man again. Not after spending two years of my life
at a sick man’s bedside, only to have him leave me for another
woman when he recovered.
    I look at you and I feel like I’m right back
where I was.
    I shuddered at the words I’d never been able
to get out of my mind. They’d echoed all around me when I got
served the divorce papers, and I’d felt nothing but anger.
    According to all of my friends I’d ruined the
best years of my life when I married a man much too old for me. I’d
loved him, though, and decided to stick by him after he became ill
and needed my constant care. After he left me, I wanted no part of
love. Love meant nothing.
    Will handled my end of the divorce, and a
month after it finalized, he asked me out. Still reeling with
bitterness for any man who came near me, I’d said no. He’d given me
some time, and three months later, I gave in and went out with him.
It was curiosity more than anything. I wanted to find out what his
interest in me was. It wasn’t my money, because I’d asked for
nothing out of the divorce. I made a good living as a financial
advisor and I hadn’t wanted a dime of my ex’s money. All I’d wanted
was to put the whole experience behind me.
    I thought maybe Will felt sorry for me, but
we laughed and had a good time together and part of me didn’t care
if he did.
    Unlike my ex, Will was eager to get me into
bed. I slept with him for the first time after our fourth date:
we’d gone to dinner to at a tiny restaurant tucked away a few
blocks behind the beach, and to a small coffee shop for dessert
afterward. As soon as we sat down with lattes and a piece of peanut
butter pie we planned to