Page 147 of Aria

Beth knows?

His wife knew he wanted to take his ex-lover out for a drink, and she wasokay with that?

“Noah, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I feel like maybe we should keep the past in the past.”

“Damnit, Combs, you owe me this.” Noah glanced around the room, checking to see if anyone had heard him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned in closer. “Please. I just want to talk. But this is not the place.”

The sound of my last name on his tongue made my stomach flutter. My hands felt clammy as I squeezed them together, my normally disciplined thoughts running rampant through my brain. I wondered what we could possibly say to each other that would change anything.

Maybe that wasn’t the point, though.

Maybe Noah just needed closure.

Maybe we both did.

And maybe, someday, I could fall asleep at night and not be drawn back into a world of Sunday morning pancakes and a perpetual vision of what might have been.

“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll see you at seven.”

Noah seemed taken aback, as if he’d already resigned himself to a rejection. “Good. Thanks.”

Then he was gone, the familiar scent of his sandalwood cologne lingering behind.

I jumped when a hand tapped my shoulder, spinning to find Lisa standing there with a look of empathy on her face.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah… I’m ready.”

We made our way out of the funeral home and back into the chilly New York air. The sun had begun to peek through gray clouds, and I chuckled to myself at the symbolism. Noah had returned to his family and circle of friends outside the doors, his hand gently rubbing Beth’s back as she fumbled with a blanket inside the stroller. I spotted two tiny feet poking out and wiggling furiously, trying to break free from their confinement.

Beth looked up at that moment, catching my eye.

We both seemed to freeze for an instant, both of us equally unprepared for such a correspondence.

She was extraordinarily pretty. Her features were so delicate, one would be unable to imagine her angry or enraged. She was the epitome of grace and composure. Becoming a mother of three boys had not aged her one bit—there was not a single wrinkle to be seen on her slender face. Her eyes were auburn, matching the freckles on the bridge of her nose. There was no animosity behind her gaze. There was no look of superiority or arrogance.

There was only acceptance.

I smiled, as if to give my blessing.

As if to say,“I’m happy for you both.”

Beth offered a friendly nod before returning her attention to the stroller.

Closure.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

CHELSIE

Seven o’clock lingered at the forefront of my mind. I attempted to occupy myself by calling my mother, sending some e-mails for work, showering—twice—and watching HGTV reruns on the hotel room television.

Nothing seemed to work.

The pit of ever-growing fretfulness continued to churn in my belly as the clock ticked down to that fateful hour.

When six-thirty rolled around, I checked my appearance in the mirror before heading down to the hotel lobby. I hadn’t bothered to get glammed up— this wasn’t a date. This was the final part of my healing process.

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