Chapter 12

Greg must sense a change in my mood because he points his fork at my salad and asks, “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I say quickly, with a nod to show that yes, everything’s good. I stare at him a moment—in the faint starlight and backwash from the streetlamps, his blond hair looks golden, his skin, too. He looks like a god fallen to Earth, a minor deity deigning to eat with a mere mortal like me. Yes, Lisa would’ve loved him. I just know it.

He sees me looking and glances up, a faint grin on his face. “What?”

I force a laugh, hoping to dispel my moodiness. “I wish my wife could’ve met you.”

Greg’s smile freezes a moment, and when he wipes his mouth with a napkin, it’s gone. “Why? What would she have thought? Who’s this man moving in on my husband?”

This time, my laugh is genuine. “No, she would’ve thought it was funny. She’d say you’re just my type.”

Slowly, his grin returns. “Really? So she knew you were…”