Page 16 of Pity Parade

“Haven’t you set it up with them yet?”

“Tentatively,” I tell him. I wonder what Heath is going to make of my having various men come and stay for a week. I don’t know how, but I’m going to have to make sure I don’t let him interact with my guests. No good can come from that.

When dessert arrives, I let out a moan of pure distress. “I can’t do it.”

Heath waves to the waiter and asks for two to-go containers. “I’m going to gain twenty pounds this summer if I keep eating like this.”

“I’m going to have to take up running,” I tell him. “And to clarify, in the past I’ve only considered such a thing if I was being chased by a knife-wielding criminal.”

He looks startled. “Does that happen often?”

I shoot him a side-eye. “Please, I live in a nice neighborhood.”

“Where do you live?”

“Ah, Mr. Fox, that’s not information you need.”

He looks affronted. “I was just making conversation.”

“Is that so?” I ask. “In that case, where do you live?”

He gives me a swanky address on Lake Shore Drive, so I tell him my approximate neighborhood. “I’ve always liked the Gold Coast,” he says. “It’s more in the heart of the action than where I’m at.”

“I’ve enjoyed living there, but I think it’s time I move farther north. I wouldn’t mind buying a brownstone with a little backyard.”

“Ah, domesticating, are you?” There’s something about his tone that sounds almost longing. Which makes no sense as he’s made it clear he’s not in the market for the white-picket-fence lifestyle.

“I’m getting to that age,” I tell him. “You know, where a woman longs for fencing.”

“And children to put behind it?” Now he almost sounds angry.

Instead of responding, I stand up and address the rest of the table. “Supper was lovely, everyone; thank you so much for inviting me. But I’m so full that if I sit here for another minute, I’m liable to need to be carried home.”

“Oh, but I had a couple other …” Tim glances at Heath before adding, “people I wanted you to meet.” Thank you, Tim, for not saying men.

“I’ll be here all summer,” I tell him.

Heath suddenly stands up and takes out his billfold. He leaves five twenties on the table and says, “Thank you for asking me to join you. I look forward to our next encounter.”

“That’s too much money,” Paige tells him.

“It’s for my dinner and Trina’s.” He doesn’t make eye contact with me, as he adds, “I think I’d best be heading out, too.”

My new friends share looks that suggest they think Heath and I are leaving to be together. I can see how that might be the case after he paid for my meal—which I’m going to repay him for once I get to my car.

I don’t want to make a scene right now, but I’m certainly going to make sure to let the ladies know that Heath is not a romantic interest.

Too bad though, because it would make my life a heck of a lot easier if he were.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HEATH

I’m full of mixed emotions when my eyes pop open this morning. My nice, relaxing summer suddenly feels like it’s become complicated. Why does Trina Rockwell have to be here? Normally, I’d welcome the diversion of a beautiful woman, but she’s made it perfectly clear she’s not looking for a casual dalliance, if there is such a thing as a casual dalliance with a woman like Trina.

My first stop when my feet hit the floor is the pot of coffee I timed to be ready for my normal wakeup. I figure it’ll take me a few days before I ditch the routine I’ve had for the last decade.

After pouring myself a steaming cup of French Roast, I head out onto the back deck and wait for the sun to come up over the lake. I inhale deeply, hoping to replace this building anxiety with the sense of peace I’ve been longing for. If Jess were sitting next to me and our children were still sound asleep, I’d feel like all was right with the world. Unfortunately, that’s not the world I live in.

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