months, with prospects for more in the pipeline. She’d made friends with the woman across the hall and Gina’s circle of friends had embraced her. Her initial qualms about civilian life faded as she found her feet and her days took on a rhythm of their own.
She was surviving. No, not simply surviving—she was thriving. She had a home all her own, she had a business that was on the uptick, she was putting down roots and forming new friendships. It was all good.
The only off note, if it could be called that, was the fact that every now and then, when her guard was down, a rogue, rebellious part of her brain wondered what might have happened if she’d hung around and waited for Rhys to wake up all those weeks ago.
Every time she caught her thoughts drifting in that direction she gave herself a mental slap and reminded herself that she was a realist and that she’d played it smart, leaving the way she had—even if it meant there might be a part of her that wondered “what if.”
She was giving herself the Rhys Lecture, as she’d come to think of it, late one Friday afternoon in early May when a knock sounded. She was preparing dinner for herself and Gina and she put down the knife she’d been using before heading for the door.
“I come bearing gifts,” Gina said. She was carrying a bottle of red wine and a white bakery box and looked as though she’d come straight from work.
Charlie made a show of checking her watch. “You’re about two hours early for dinner. You know that, right?”
Gina shrugged. “I got off early. Plus, they’d just finished making these mini quiches for a function tonight—feel the box, they’re still warm from the oven—and I knew you’d be up for some early piggery.”
Charlie smiled wryly as she waved her friend inside. “You know me so well.”
“I know your appetite, that’s for sure.” Gina dumped the bottle of wine on the counter and glanced at the chopping board. “So, what are we having?”
“Potatoes dauphinoise, green beans with garlic and coq au vin.”
“God, I wish you were a man. I would so marry you.”
“What say we hold off on the proposal until after we’ve eaten? This is all a bold experiment at this stage.”
Cooking had never been one of Charlie’s strong suits, but she was determined to improve now that she was personally responsible for all her own meals. The days of making excuses for living off canned and frozen meals were over.
“You want to eat these little puppies now or later?” Gina asked, nudging the bakery box suggestively.
“What do you think?”
“This is why we’re friends,” Gina said with a happy sigh.
Charlie grabbed two wineglasses and the bottle and followed Gina into the living room.
“You make me feel like such a slattern every time I come here.” Gina dropped onto the white couch.
“Why?” Charlie asked, startled.
“Because your place is always so organized and clean and perfect,” Gina said, one hand making a sweeping gesture.
Charlie glanced around at her black leather Eames chair and ottoman, white wool Florence Knoll sofa and midcentury glass-and-wood coffee table. Art books sat in a neat stack beside the open fireplace, arranged so their spines formed blocks of color, and a cluster of thick, creamy pillar candles sat in the empty grate. Apart from a handful of red-and-black throw cushions on the couch and a single white vase on the mantel, the room was bare.
“Is it too sterile?” She loved it like this—calm and clean—but she knew that her minimalist bent gave some people the heebie-jeebies.
“No. It’s soothing, actually. I just don’t know how you maintain it.”
“Magical elves. With tiny hoovers and feather dusters.”
“I knew you’d been holding out on me, bitch,” Gina said amicably. “You need to send some of that elf magic my way.”
Charlie smiled as she opened the wine and poured. “I’ll see what I can do. But even elves have their standards, you know.”
“Careful, or I won’t share,” Gina said, flipping off the lid. The smell of cream and cheese and bacon filled the room.
“Oh, boy, this is going to be good,” Charlie said.
“Word,” Gina agreed.
They dived into the box. They both made appreciative noises as they scoffed their first quiche before going back for seconds.
“So good,” Charlie said around a mouthful of food.
“Tell me about it,” Gina mumbled.
The phone rang, catching Charlie in the act of reaching for her third quiche. Rolling her eyes at Gina over the bad timing,