Page 34 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

Olivia carried their wine glasses to the table, and they started on their salads. “Guy Talkwas obscure for about five minutes, as I recall. She took a bit of salad and chewed appreciatively. "Weren’t you pulling a fifty share within the first six months?”

"Yeah.” Matt speared a piece of romaine. “As it turned out, I really liked the talk thing.”

He removed her empty salad plate and replaced it with a serving of snapper and rice, slicing open the parchment as she watched.

Olivia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “Oh, God, Matt. This smells heavenly.”

Her first mouthful of fish and rice produced a sigh of ecstasy. She took a second bite and a third, and he suspected she’d never again see peanut butter and jelly in the same light.

He let her wash it all down with a long sip of wine before picking up the conversation. “You’re not exactly an unknown anymore yourself.”

Her laugh was rueful. “Yeah, but mostly because I married a guy who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. Therapists are supposed to know better.” She speared him with her gaze, and her tone turned dry. “I seem to have a weakness for men just like my father.”

He sliced open his own parchment but didn’t lift his fork. “I didn’t cheat on you, Livvy. It’s not cheating if there’s no commitment.”

"Ahhh, we’re going for thetechnicaldefinition of fidelity. I guess I’ve been remembering it wrong all these years.”

“You were barely out of college. Neither of us was ready to make a commitment.”

“No. One of us wasn’t ready. The other never had a chance to express her opinion.

He tasted the rice and fish, but no longer felt like savoring the meal. It struck him that they’d never had this conversation, and he wasn’t wild about having it now. Olivia had gotten too close, and he’d moved on. End of story— except for the eight years he’d spent trying to erase her memory. For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder how long it had taken her to forget about him. “Olivia, you were a baby. You needed to go back to school and get your doctorate, not hang out in Chicago with the likes of me.”

“So you said. Repeatedly. And evidently, it wasn’t just me you didn’t want to commit to.”

He saw some emotion he couldn’t identify sweep over her face and watched her shake it off.

“But why are you still doing the hit-and-run thing, Matt? What is it about real intimacy that scares you so much?”

“I do believe you’re getting ready to try and analyze me.

She took another sip of wine and ate for a few minutes in silence. When she spoke, it was with an intentional lightness. “Hey, we’ve got eons of time ahead of us. If you’re ready to seek help, I’m available.” She scooped up a last morsel of fish with her fork and turned an impudent smile on him. "If you keep cooking, I’ll waive my hourly fee. That’s a real bargain when you consider I charge two hundred for an hour long session.”

“Right. So you’re going to, what, peel me like an onion and expose all my innermost feelings to our listening audience in exchange for three square meals a day?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Matt stood and carried his plate to the kitchen, and Olivia followed suit. Together they piled dirty pots, pans, and dishes in the sink while he rummaged in the cabinet underneath for cleaning supplies. “I’m stunned by your offer, Olivia. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

He tossed the rubber gloves at her and spun her around to face the mound of dirty dishware. “But this is the only expertise I need from you at the moment.”

Chapter Twelve

Chinkapin Lanes roared on Wednesday nights. Packed to capacity for the weekly Couples League, the fifties-era bowling alley shook with sound in a way its more modern competitors did not. Balls thundered down wooden lanes, pins crashed madly against each other, and music blared from an antiquated audio system that actually shook, rattled, and rolled. Despite the din, or perhaps because of it, men and women let their hair down at the Chinkapin. It was said there were Wednesday-night teams that had outlasted many marriages.

This Wednesday was the first in more than three years that Dawg Rollins arrived at Chinkapin Couples League alone. He’d missed driving over with JoBeth, missed her droll recap of her day at the diner, and her interest in the details of his. He’d come early, as usual, had placed the usual beer and pizza order, and stowed his bowling bag under the seat, but it just didn’t feel like Wednesday night without JoBeth at his side.

If she’d arrived with him, JoBeth would already be making funny comments about who was hitting on whom and sharing odd news stories she’d read online that day. Instead, Dawg chatted quietly with the captain of the other team while he waited for the rest of his team to arrive. And while he chatted he wondered how JoBeth’s day had gone and whether she’d caught herself wondering about his.

“Hey, Paul. Hey, Emmylou.”

“Hey, handsome.” Emmylou gave him a wink and a hug and added what looked like a whole new wiggle to her walk. While he and Paul watched, she turned her back on them and bent from the waist to retrieve her ball from her bag. Dawg found himself holding his breath as her floral-covered capris stretched even tighter across her lush backside, testing the limits of fabric science and treating them both to an awesome floral display.

“Kinda makes a guy wish he was a bumblebee, doesn’t it?” Paul’s gaze never wavered from Emmylou’s flower-covered rear end.

“I can see how the idea of pollination might pop up,” Dawg replied.

“Of course, some of us are free to think about the birds and the bees all we like.” Paul thumped himself on the chest and turned sympathetic eyes on Dawg. “Others of us would just be asking for trouble.”

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