But he had been once.
There was something in that.
As much as she told herself there wasn’t. As much as she tried for there not to be, there was.
So. Fine.
She knew. She was on top of it.
The danger was in not knowing what was behind you, catching up to you, preparing to take you unaware.
Meaning to stay in the foyer by the front door, her gaze focused off in space, Ella caught a glimpse of something in the room off to her right. A sunken room with lush beige carpet. And brocade furniture. An antique armoire.
The frame she’d seen drew her closer, and she saw that she’d been right. He had the photo they’d always kept in their living room on the mantel above the fireplace. It was a landscape, a small patch of beach with the ocean in the distance. Not anything that would stand out to anyone. Except the two people who’d made love for the first time there and then taken a cell phone photo of the beach as a promise to each other to never forget their first time.
She’d given him the framed photo on their wedding night.
And had wondered, after the divorce, what had happened to it.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Ella turned, intending to say something to him about the photo—about the fact that he’d kept it, but all she saw was his back. As though he’d seen her standing there and had turned away.
“Come on out, and I’ll get us some tea,” he called from several feet down the hall, as though she knew her way around his home.
She followed the sound, wishing she could have just stayed in the foyer by the front door. Years of work, of healing, suddenly felt at risk.
She couldn’t help looking around her as she came into the large kitchen with the bay window alcove that held a butcher-block table with fall leaf quilted placemats. A gourd acting as a bowl to smaller gourds painted like fruit sat in the middle of the table.
And beyond the window was the loveliest backyard she’d ever seen. Bougainvillea climbed six-foot stucco walls off in the distance, cornering a rock waterfall. Behind the wall were some woods. She could see the tops of the trees. The pool took up half the yard and was flanked by a built-in fireplace and grill.
“Are those orange trees?” They were off to the side of the pool.
“One navel, and one ruby-red grapefruit. There’s a lemon tree on the side of the house.”
Lost in the beauty of his home, she didn’t think about the past. Or the future. She wanted to sit down. And stay a while.
“Here’s your tea,” he said, handing her a glass.
She took a sip to soothe her newly parched throat—unsweetened, with just a hint of lemon, exactly as she liked it.
He’d remembered. “These are lovely,” she said, pointing to the place mats. Their home had been nice, too, but they’d both been students when they’d first married, living paycheck to paycheck. “My mother’s doing,” he said, standing there with his tea, watching her.
She wanted to see the rest of the place.
And knew she didn’t dare. She was strong. Happy. And intended to remain that way.
She’d lost too much of herself to this man the first time around. Giving him everything, trusting that he was as invested in her as she was in him, only to find that he’d seen a divorce lawyer without even telling her that he wanted out.
Trusting that he wanted a baby as badly as she did only to find that he didn’t want one at all.
She wasn’t going to be drawn in again. Even if that meant they stood there, awkwardly holding glasses of tea while they talked.
Opening the sliding glass door off to one side of the alcove, Brett stepped outside. “Let’s sit out here,” he said and because she needed to get out of his house, she followed him.
He’d put on black pants and a striped business shirt.
“You have a meeting tonight?” Setting her glass on the table, she sat in one of the four padded chairs around it.
“A plane to catch. I have an eight o’clock board meeting in Oregon in the morning.”