Chapter One
She sniffed appreciatively as she rounded the last curve in the stair that led to her apartment in the rickety, but rent-controlled, brownstone she’d been lucky enough to find. Coq au vin: not quite the dinner she’d been expecting when she’d texted ahead, saying she had “great news,” but that was Evan, forever full of surprises. And, she mused, kicking the tattered hall runner flat as she bounded up the last few steps, even her budget would be strained by the kind of celebration she’d foolishly pictured. A cozy night in would be perfect, and well, considering the discussion she and Evan needed to have, perhaps they should be at home. Shifting the bag she held to one side of her lucky tan pantsuit’s hips, she twisted the doorknob, and frowned. Locked? It was New York City, but hell’s bells, Evan could take care of himself!
Resting the bag on the doorjamb, she fumbled in her Gucci purse for her keys, mumbling as she did. Self-defense experts always prated that a girl should have her keys in hand at all times, but she suspected they’d never had to make a manicure stretch two weeks! Resolving for the hundredth time to buy one of those super-organized Butler bags she’d seen on TV, she caught the edge of her keychain between her fingers and dragged it out, triumphantly. A piece of paper floated to the floor and she growled. Carelessly, she dove after it, and then, as the bag slipped lower, she realized her folly. Bent in her crazy arabesque position, she had no other recourse than to reach out and knock – knock on her own door!
“Why hello,” her dark-haired lover purred in the doorway, one hand resting on his waist, one reaching out for the bag she’d brought with her, transferring it from its precarious and sliding position to a safer one on his hip. “I didn’t think anywhere in the Village delivered groceries any more. Or,” he said, diving in for a kiss as she straightened, flushed, “sent such lovely delivery girls.” He leered at her, and she grinned back, surprised still by the reaction he inspired in her although they’d been married nearly a year, and dating for years before that. His mock-smoldering glance went from her heart to her groin in about a nanosecond, and suddenly, even though her day at Waters and Wheeling had been long, supper was the last thing on her mind. Well, she amended that thought, she certainly wanted to eat something, but it wasn’t coq au vin.
“Careful of the champagne,” she managed to gasp as he stole a few more kisses. He arched a dark eyebrow over one chocolate iris, and she nodded toward the bag he still clutched. When he’d let her up for air, setting the bag down and sorting out its contents – Evan was, she thought, a bit like the ultimate Butler bag, organized and precise – she glanced around, a furrow starting between her eyebrows. He’d dug out candles, she noted, and put a cloth on the table that usually held more legal briefs and Chinese takeout containers than even her messy desk at the office. She flicked a sandy brown curl out of her face as he finished slotting the groceries into their allotted spaces, stuffing the champagne into the refrigerator to chill before he tipped the frying pan holding their supper, expertly wielding his spatula. She watched this domestic scene peacefully, feeling the day’s stresses slip away. Evan had always grounded her so well.
“Don’t you want to hear my news?” she teased, as he began chopping a sweet green pepper into the salad. He glanced up, and she noted the furrow in his forehead, a sure signal that he was growing tense about something. She glanced toward the stack of bills that rested in the out half of the organizer on the counter, wondering if they might be the cause for his tension. Well, she could fix that for him: perhaps that would make the rest of her revelation easier for him to take? Planting a fist on her hip, she leaned forward, smiling, but he didn’t take the bait, or even the kiss she offered. Instead, he straightened, tossing the pepper artfully into the mass of green salad. She fished out a slice, enjoying the slight bite of the sweet flavor, avoiding his direct gaze.
“Wynn,” he said, his head cocked to the side as if he were studying an architectural angle rather than herself, “what news are you talking about? Because I thought you’d remember what today is,” he added, nodding toward the calendar, where the day was circled in red ink. Her green eyes widened as she glanced toward the grid, and inwardly, she groaned. How under the sun had she forgotten? And how in the hell would she convince him she hadn’t? It had taken years to convince Evan that they could have a secure and healthy marriage, and how had she managed to forget that? Well, she knew how she had managed to forget that, but she couldn’t let him think anything had eclipsed tonight!
“It’s all over town,” she lied, glibly. “Even the New York Times had a special edition. The whole city knows that I love you,” she announced, smiling as the familiar joke made his lips curl in response.
“And the baby?” he prompted, those dark chocolate eyes on her. She swallowed, and shifted. He’d wanted a baby right away, using his own tragic history as reasoning – they were young, together, and alive, unlike his own parents – while she was still ambivalent to the idea of children. But as he held up the real-estate brochures she’d snagged in the grocery, she sank down onto the stool that fronted the long kitchen island. “Research first,” she murmured, pressing a hand to her forehead. When Evan made up his mind, he was as adamant as a bulldog, sinking in his teeth and savaging her arguments. “And you know,” she added, sighing, “we still need to pay off all that student debt before we can buy land for the house.”
“If we could just get away from the city,” he argued, for what had to be the hundredth time, if not the thousandth, “we’d be doing so much better.”
“Well,” she said, sensing the chance to drop her day’s bombshell on him, but hesitant to do so while he was still so focused on their ever-present argument, “today...” But he carried on, cutting her neatly off.
“I could get a deal through the firm, you know,” he said, expounding on his favorite topic. He’d proposed by sending her a house drawing by courier, with himself on one side, herself beside him, and three amalgams of their faces pasted between them, each with his smile and her button nose. She had had it framed, and pretended it had not arrived, as he grew more and more tense and anxious. When the shop had finally finished, she had left work early to hang it over his bed in their studio loft, taping numbers clipped from the newspaper to the wall above it. That date had passed, of course, during the year that they’d spent planning their wedding. She’d joked that they were cursed as plague after plague descended upon their fairy-tale plans, but he’d come to the rescue with last-minute tickets to Jamaica and a justice of the peace. She’d worn the horribly expensive Vera Wang sheath dress she’d gotten at Filene’s Basement, and he’d worn Bermuda shorts and Birkenstocks.
He’d vowed that he’d make her the happiest woman alive. She’d known in her heart that he could do it.
So why was she sitting on this stool, trying not to weep, unable to spit out the simple declaration that she’d just gotten the promotion of her dreams – to the Home Office of a multinational law firm – a home office that was completely across the nation, in Seattle?
“Evan,” she said, cutting him off in mid-rant, “Evan, you know, you were right. I forgot it was our anniversary, I truly did. I forgot,” she said, lifting a hand to ward off his surprised anger, “because I had some great news at work today. I was so excited because I got promoted.” His surprised expression lost its honed edge, and he folded her into a large hug, rocking her on her precarious perch. “It’s a new position,” she continued, “one overseeing a large task force for a new trial service.” She wasn’t a criminal lawyer, so he tilted his head, finally settling his chin atop her pinned chignon. “Waters and Wheeling thinks I’m best suited to manage cases heading to trial over disputes. In the home office,” she finished, unable to hide her sudden tension as the weight of her surprise slid off her shoulders.
“That was my great news,” she said, winding her arms around his hips. He made a noncommittal sound into her hair, and she pulled back, glancing up into the aquiline planes of his face. His arms tightened around her, and she wondered if he remembered the overview of the law firm she’d given him so long ago. It seemed he’d forgotten when he finally let her go, planting a warm kiss on her hair. “Good job, Winslow,” he said, and she heard affection in his voice. “If we take the raise and put it against the bills, and keep the same budget as before, we should have our debt paid off soon.” His platonic kissing moved down, across her forehead, onto the bridge of her nose, knocking her wire-framed glasses askew, before claiming her mouth. She melted into his kiss, her lips opening under his studied assault, her body stretching along the length of his.
He pulled back. “The chicken,” he muttered, releasing her to vault across the kitchen, where a slightly scorched scent wafted from his golden chicken. “Still edible,” he declared, as she moved up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “But it’s certainly not as good as, say, L’Arene.”
She laughed. “Like we could afford that.”
“Aah but soon you’ll be married to the most successful young architect in New York,” he teased, rubbing her thigh with one hand as he reached to the side for two plates. He slid the chicken breasts, in their dark sauce, onto each plate. Reaching into the Panera bag she’d brought home, he pulled out two thick, yeasty slices of ciabatta, and slipped them onto the sides of each plate. “Grab the salad and some bowls,” he instructed, lifting both plates and slipping deftly from her grasp, not caring that the button to his jeans laid open, exposing the fine down of dark hair on his belly. She did one better, shifting the salad to one side, nesting the bowls against it, and scooping up the slightly-warm champagne and two fluted glasses as she followed him to the table, where the candles made their shadows loom high on the walls.
“So,” he said, a few moments later when the first urgent bites had been taken and the flavor of the food commented on, “what shall we toast to?” He drew the cork clumsily – they hadn’t had much practice at champagne, she decided, something she felt they needed to repair - and she hid her smile behind her paper napkin. As he bounced from his seat, mimicking a waiter’s grandiose manner, to fill her cup, she could not stifle her giggle. “Let’s,” he said, taking her by the shoulders, “let’s toast to us. Another year together, one with a lot of high points,” he said, “and let’s toast to you. That law firm of yours finally saw your inner talents,” he affirmed, squeezing. She smiled, and lifted her glass in approval. He clinked his own against it.
“To us,” she echoed, and felt the bubbly wine explode headily in the pit of her stomach. “Just to us.”
“To more of just us?” he asked, his dark eyes fixated on hers.
“Evan,” she said, defeat in her voice, “you know how I feel when you press this issue at me. I know – I know! I know you want a baby. I know how you feel about living for today. I agree that you’re probably right, too,” she admitted, letting her chin fall to her fisted hand, her fork clattering to her plate. “But there’s so much on my plate now, and morning sickness too?” She wrinkled her nose at him, showing her distaste for the idea. He sighed, and she knew the promises they’d made each other were weighing heavily on his mind. “We could start trying after the move,” she offered, hiding her reluctance.
“Move?” he asked, that guarded expression back on his face.
“I told you they promoted me to Head Office,” she reminded him, gently.
“Isn’t New York City the Head Office?” he asked, bewilderment thick in his voice.
“No, the Home Office is in Seattle,” she said, filling her mouth quickly so that he couldn’t make her say any more. His mouth, however, was empty, and as she concentrated on choking down her too-large bite of chicken, he exploded.
“You took a promotion across the country and all you had to say about it was “Great news, see you tonight?””
His face was pure fury, contorted and strange, as he rose to his feet. Before she could rise, he’d crossed the room, snatched his jacket from the pegs by the door, and thundered out into the unsleeping darkness of the Manhattan night. She raced to the door, but she was too late: the slam and click of his departure rang in her ears. She turned back, fumbling on the console table for her purse and the fur-collared coat she’d need now that October was nipping ears and noses, but the sting of tears rising in her eyes sent her hunting for a tissue. One tissue led to two, and two to a third, and she bawled unabashedly into the fourth. It was their anniversary – and it was her fault it hadn’t been as happy as she’d hoped!
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