I would be around this afternoon,” I say in hushed tones. “Didn’t say why. Rather cryptic.”
“Maybe he’s coming over,” she whispers. “Maybe I should take the girls somewhere.”
I roll my eyes. “God, please don’t.”
“Oooh…is there something you’re not telling me?”
I look over at Chloe who doesn’t seem to be paying us any attention. She’s arguing with her sister again.
I bite my lip. “Girls, stop bickering already. Why don’t I make us some lemonade? Let’s have a little break.”
“Yes,” Chloe agrees. “I’m parched,” she says, ever the drama queen.
“We should go to the park after, and pick up this game later,” I tell them as Gwen follows me to the kitchen, eager.
She takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Spill.”
I grab the can of lemonade powder mix from the cupboard. “Well,” I start. “Gabe came by the other day to pick up the girls…”
“And?” she says, at the edge of her seat. “What happened?”
I smile. “You live vicariously through me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she says. “Now spill.”
I don’t really want to tell her, but it’s no use, she probably sees it all over my face. I lean in close. “Well, we ended up…you know,” I whisper, “…in the powder room.”
“You didn’t. You little tramp,” she says, wide-eyed. “Was it amazing?”
I close my eyes for a second, remembering. “It was. I’ve missed him so much.”
“Does this mean he’s coming back?” she asks, hopeful.
My smile fades as I tell her the hard truth. “He said it didn’t change anything at first, but then…I’m not sure.”
Her smiles fades. “I’m so sorry, Mirella.”
“And then, yesterday, Weston came over.”
She straightens up in her seat. “He did not.”
“Yes, he did. Completely surprised me. He made me a super nice mixed CD too.”
“You guys didn’t—”
“No,” I snap. “Of course not. But…”
“But what?”
“But almost.”
She lets out a huge breath. “God, Mirella. What were you thinking?”
“I know, but I made the right decision. I’m still waiting for Gabe. I know there’s still a chance for us. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me when we last spoke, so tender. I can’t explain.” I pour the lemonade mix in a glass jug. “He told me he was giving me time to figure it all out.”
“You need to be strong,” she tells me knowingly. “If Gabe is the one then you need to stick to your guns.”
“I know,” I agree. “But it’s so hard with this whole mess.”
We all enjoy a lemonade, and pick up our game of Sorry after a sweltering trip to the park. Claire is still behind and I try to not pick on her too much. I hate it when she loses, but she does need to learn you can’t win them all.
The doorbell rings and my mind jumps instantly to Weston. He better not be showing up here again. However this time, I’m safe. With Gwen and the girls here, he will surely not be able to seduce me. And following my last conversation with Gabe, I’m much stronger now. I know what I want.
When I open the door, I’m surprised to see a handsome stranger with a big friendly smile. He seems harmless enough, so I unlock the screen door.
“Hello,” he says with a slight accent. “My name is Emmanuel.”
I have no idea who this young French man is, dressed in a light khakis and a short-sleeved white shirt. He looks about thirty or so. I catch sight of the logo embroidered on the left side of his shirt: Délices de Provence, and it hits me. I cock a bow and ask him, “Did Weston Hanson send you?”
He smiles. “Yes. Mr. Hanson sent me to you.” Weston’s name sounds funny on his lips, without the H. “I was told to come here tonight.”
I frown a little. A phone call would have been nice. “Yes, come in.”
He offers his hand. “It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Keates. You can call me Manny.”
I smile up at him. “It’s nice to meet you too, Manny.”
The man with the boyish face and soft brown eyes stands awkwardly and smiles again. I notice he has a gap-toothed smile like me, but his gap is nowhere as big as mine.
Gwen and the girls join us in the entry hall. “This is my friend, Gwen,” I tell him, making the introductions. “She kind of lives here. And these are my daughters Chloe and Claire.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Manny,” Gwen says as she offers her hand, maybe a little too enthusiastically.