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“This is Olivia. She’s thirteen.” Her mud-and-grass-smeared daughter posed with one cleated foot atop a soccer ball, a triumphant grin on her face. “Says she’s going to be the next Megan Rapinoe.”

He handed her a glass. “Gorgeous, like her mama. What’s her position?”

“Forward, but she’s hoping to make goalie.” She sipped. “And here’s Noah.” In another post-game photo, her youngest leaned on his lacrosse stick, helmet at his feet, his fair hair mashed and sweaty. His familiar grin tugged hard on her gut.Miss you, golden boy.

She forced a steady tone. “Blond, like his dad.”

Matteo nodded. “But smarter, I hope.”

“What do you mean?”

He slid his arm around her waist. “Any man who would leave you is a Class A idiot. You’re so…” He nuzzled her hair. “Warm. Kind. Easy to talk to. Not to mention gorgeous and smart and so sexy you make my insides light up like fireflies.”

She leaned into his embrace. “You’re sweet, Matteo. But Jason’s not stupid so much as restless. And I played my part in our divorce too.”

“Well, I guess there’s always two sides.” He rested his cheek against her hair.

Would Jason have strayed in the first place if she’d been the woman Matteo thought she was? His job placed a lot of demands on him, leaving her to manage the kids’ schedules and all the daily crises that came with being a working parent. The last few years, she and Jason spent so little time together, the connection they once shared became thinner and more brittle, until it finally snapped.

In the back of her brain, she heard her book club friends exclaiming that nothing she did would’ve changed his lying, cheating, scumbag ways. But deep down, she had to wonder.

She nuzzled Matteo’s shoulder. “I’m still figuring it all out, and that’ll take a while. Which is why you came along at exactly the wrong time.”

She stilled, waiting for him to stiffen, to argue, but he just held her quietly. The gas fire flickered and danced. Overhead, a seagull cried. Another answered.

Finally, he squeezed her hand. “You want me to go?”

She closed her eyes and listened hard to her inner voice, the one she usually drowned out with dutiful busyness. She laced her fingers through his.

“No. I want you to stay.”

Chapter Nine

Wednesday, June 26th

Thescentofcoffeeteased her awake. She yawned and rolled toward the other side of the bed—still warm, but empty. On the pillow, a note:

Danielle,

I don’t have words beautiful enough to thank you for last night. Here goes, anyway. Meeting you has been the most wonderful surprise. I must’ve done something really good in a past life to deserve this.

I have to take Sal into Westport for an appointment, then pick up stuff for the wedding arch. We close the gelato shop at seven. Stop by my workshop after? Blue house, right behind Saint Sebastian’s. Text me if you can come. Or if you can’t. I’ll miss you till then.

Yours, M

She pressed the letter over her heart and then, because no one was there to see what a total lovesick sap she’d become, kissed his swooping cursive M.

Mine—for now. She counted on her fingers. Eleven more days to enjoy this scary-strong connection. A week from Saturday, she’d be out of this house and on her way back to Tacoma, to her kids and her real life. The thought settled over her like a damp, moldy blanket.

After moping for another fifteen minutes, she rolled to her feet and gave herself a head-to-toe, wet-dog shake. “Enough feeling sorry for myself,” she told her nude reflection. “I’ve got a whole, glorious day at the beach, and I’m probably gonna get lucky tonight.”

Even with a sheet-creased face and bed-rumpled hair, she did look pretty good for a middle-aged mom. Glowing, pink, well-rested and well-fucked. Better by far than any spa.

She pulled on yoga pants and an ancient concert T-shirt, then padded barefoot to the kitchen. Sudden tears prickled her eyes when she saw what Matteo had left on the table. A breadbasket held sliced peasant bread, and a bowl of cut melon and strawberries sat beside a plate of cheese, salami, and ham. He’d even set out the butter to soften. A crystal bud vase held a fat ruby geranium from the window box.

What a sweet, thoughtful guy. She removed her phone from the charger, pulled up a playlist of meditation music, and sat down to feast. Afterward, she carried the music into the bathroom and treated herself to a rose-scented bath to soothe her slightly bruised lady parts, lazily reading a paperback mystery until the water cooled. Just for fun, she snapped a selfie of her open book and her wet, bubbly toes beyond, then sent it to her book club group chat.

Me time