“You are
Just like the good ol’ days, Cait thought with a smile. And see, this was exactly what she needed: a break from her work routine, a good distraction from her mourning, an opportunity to put her money where her mouth was—and live a little.
Teresa leaned forward. “Fine, forget the libations—I didn’t bring you here for the drinks.”
“Good.” Cait frowned. “Because I’m going to pass on all this. Call me common, but I’m proud of my simple Midwestern roots—Dunkin’ Donuts coffee is as exotic as I get.”
“The singer. It’s all about the singer.”
That man on the motorcycle? she wondered. “I didn’t know you were into music played in a place like this. Not exactly Aerosmith or Van Halen.”
“Ah, but the good news is Katy Perry isn’t showing up, either.”
“Hey, I like to work out to her stuff.”
“I can’t help that.”
“You know, you should really try to past eighties metal. How old were you when it came out? Three?”
“Have some kombucha with that judgment, would you?” Teresa grinned. “Anyway, his name’s G.B. and he comes here the last Monday of the month. As well as Hot Spot on Wednesdays at eight, the Hut on alternative Tuesdays, and the—”
“Are you a fan or his tour manager?”
“Wait’ll you see him. He’s incredible.”
The waiter in the raspberry shirt came back. “What can I getcha?”
“I’ll just have water.”
“We have tap, Pellegrino, Rain Forest—”
Too much choice around here, she thought. “Just tap.”
“With or without cubes?”
“Ah … with?”
“In a mug or a glass?”
“No preference.”
“Infused with—”
“Honestly, just plain tap would be great, thanks.” She smiled up at him as she handed the menu back.
As he left, she exhaled. “I don’t know how you handle it.”
“Again, not here for the drinks. Although I’ve tried the strawberry infusion and it’s awesome.” Teresa eased back in her chair. “So what’s new? I feel like it’s been a month since I saw you over the holidays.”
“That would be five months ago, I think.”
“Is it almost May? Wow.” Teresa shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to time.”
“Which was why you gave me your schedule of classes each semester.”
“You always were a great sheepherder. Wish my assistant was as good as you were.”
“How’s work?”
“Same shit, different day. But I knew that tax law wasn’t going to be glamorous.”
“It’s clearly lucrative, though. What kind of bag is that? Prada?”
“Aw, you noticed, how sweet.”
As Teresa settled into a pause that grew much, much longer, Cait stiffened. Silence was antithetical to her old roommate. “Okay, what’s up. And tell me now, before the waiter comes back and interviews me for five years over whether or not I want a cinnamon bun.”
“Their croissants are better.”
“Spill it, Goldman.”
The hesitation lasted through the delivery of a tall mug full of ice cubes and H20.
When they were alone again, Cait said grimly, “You’re scaring me, Teresa, and no offense, after the last couple of weeks, I don’t need any more of that.”
“Yeah, I’d heard that Barten girl went to Union.”
Cait ducked her eyes. “She was in my drawing class.”
“Shit, Cait … I didn’t know you knew her.”
“I did. And she was a lovely girl—I had her for my intro to sculpting seminar, too.”
“You going to the funeral?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Cait looked up. “Now tell me what you don’t want to tell me.”
“There’s a sentence and a half.”
“Talk, Goldman.”
Her old friend cleared her throat. “Did you hear about Thom and the girlfriend?”
Cait looked away again. Yes, she thought. “No,” she said.
“They’re pregnant. Due this month, as a matter of fact. I ran into him downtown at the courthouse. I guess one of his colleagues was brought up on embezzlement charges and he was there to testify, and I was there for … shit, what does it matter. I just … yeah, I figured you’d want to know.”
Cait forced a smile onto her face, and didn’t know why she bothered. Teresa knew better than to be fooled by a fake show of teeth. “I’m happy for him. For them, I mean.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but it had to have been a mistake. I can’t picture Thom with his nitpick all covered in spit-up, while he changes diapers and fills bottles with formula. That man used to vacuum his dorm room. Who does that?”
“In his defense, we did.”
“We’re
“Traditional sex roles much?”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Cait nursed her water, feeling a cold tingle in that molar with the iffy filling she needed to take care of.
The truth was, Thom had told her the news six months ago. As soon as they told their families. And to his credit, it had been in a kind way—because he didn’t want her to hear it from anyone else, and his GF was shouting it from the rooftop, evidently. Cait had been shocked to the core, but she’d said all the right congratulatory things … then hung up the phone and burst into tears.
The woman who was about to give birth to his baby was the one he’d cheated on her with.
Margot. Her name was Margot. Like she was a French movie actress or something.
Hell, maybe it was even spelled Margeaux.
At least they’d been together for a while now. How many years had it been? Almost as long as Cait had been with him. No, wait … longer. So why the pregnancy had been such a shock to the system, she hadn’t a clue. But it had thrown her into a tailspin that had landed her here, in this hard little chair, with new hair, and an improved body … and a sense that she was through hiding from life, and ready to…
Okay, she didn’t know the answer to the “what” on that one.
“Hey, did you know you’re missing an earring,” Teresa said.
“Oh, yeah. I think it happened at the hair salon—”
“Here he is,” Teresa hissed as she sat up straighter.
Cait glanced over her shoulder. And did a little spine stretching of her own.
Yup, it was the one she’d just seen by the bike … and if the guy had been an eye-catcher from the back, the front view was even better: His face was a stunning composite of strong lines, enhanced not only by that holy-crap hair of his, but a goatee and a pair of hooded eyes that had bedroom all over them. Long and lean, he was wearing just a muscle shirt now, his arms covered in flowing black and gray tattoos marked with lettering in a foreign language.
As he sat down on a pine stool, he drew a hand through that hair, pushing it over his shoulder—and it refused to stay put, copper highlights flashing in the stage illumination as it rebelled back into place.
His smile was easy as a summer breeze, and as he tapped the mic to make sure it was working, Cait found herself wondering what his voice sounded like—
“Hey,” he said, deeply, softly. “How you doin’ tonight?”
The line was anything but cheesy coming from him, especially as the tenor of the words floated down from the ceiling like a caress.
