then, when you’d come home, I’d keep saying, friend, friend, friend. I knew it wasn’t true deep down, but over time it became a kind of truth. You know?”
“I know.” She hesitated. “And then you met Tory.”
He nodded. “She was bright and happy and, well, there. With me.”
“She made you happy,” Liza said, without an iota of envy or anger.
“She really did.”
Her fingertips brushed down his jawline. “I’m glad you had her. I’m glad she made you happy. I hope you can believe that I’ve never been glad that she died.”
“I know,” he said without hesitation. “You couldn’t. It wouldn’t be you.”
Her smile was tremulous. “I must say, though, the day you met her was not my favorite day.”
He remembered the flash of hurt in her eyes. How could he have missed it? How could he have compartmentalized his feelings to such a degree that he’d been so clueless? “I guess not.”
“I got off the call with you and went to the PX and got an entire quart of ice cream and ate it all myself.”
“Rocky road?”
She made a face. “No. It was mint chocolate chip. One of my friends found me eating it and weaseled some of the story out of me. She encouraged me to get serious with Fritz.”
So they had arrived at act two of the program. “Fritz.”
Her smile was sad. “Friedrich was his given name. His mom loved Little Women. Her favorite character was Jo, who ends up married to Friedrich, who she calls Fritz. He had such a nice family. My Fritz, not the book Fritz.”
Tom swallowed, trying to loosen the clench of his jaw.
“He was my Fritz,” she said quietly. “He was kind and I did love him.”
Tom swallowed again. “I know.”
“While I was with him, we were happy.” She shrugged. “He was a good person.”
“I’m glad you had him. I’m glad he made you happy.”
She nodded, acknowledging the words that she’d said to him. She met his gaze squarely. “If he hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be with you. Even if you were alone.”
“I know,” he said again, and she visibly relaxed. “So now what?”
She lifted her brows. “That’s a vague question. Be specific.”
He looked around the classy apartment. “Will you stay here? Or will you come home?”
“Home,” she said, and every tense muscle in his body let go. “On my side of the duplex. I’m not moving in with you yet.”
His lips curved. “Not yet?”
“Nope. You’re going to court me.”
“I am?”
Rising on her knees so that she loomed above him, she kissed him hard. “You are. You’re going to come over for meals and I’ll come to your place for movies. We’ll go out on dates. We’ll continue to share Pebbles. And I will continue paying you rent for my side of the duplex.”
“I donate it to the kids’ charity in town, just so you know.”
“I’ve always known that,” she said. “You’ve got cash. I get that. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor, either. So I’ll continue to pay rent, and you’ll continue to donate it.”
He grinned up at her. “And I’ll court you.”
She nodded sharply. “You will.”
“Okay.”
She frowned, a little line appearing between her crunched brows. “I have one more question. On Thursday night, when we were arguing about me going to work at Sunnyside Oaks, I thought you were going to kiss me.”
“I was.” He remembered that moment with excruciating clarity. The moment after even more so.
“But then you backed away like I had the plague and you looked appalled. I didn’t expect that. Why did you do that?”
“Because I was still telling myself that you were my friend. I’d already fucked up and you’d moved out. I was afraid. I could see myself ruining what was left of our friendship.” He hesitated. “And everyone kept telling me that you had deeper feelings for me, but I wasn’t ready to let Tory go. I loved her. I really did. I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid to move on.”
“I get it,” she assured him. “If you admit that you’re open to moving on, you’re also open to getting hurt, and that’s scary, too.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered. “That night I knew I should let you go. I was about to text you, to say goodbye. But I couldn’t make myself type it. I couldn’t let you go.”
“So you said good night,” she whispered back. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.”
“I’ll be careful with your heart. I might fuck up, but I won’t hurt you on purpose.”
“And I