Page 227 of Love in Riverbend
“Does she mean that much to you? You said she’s your sister’s friend and your friend…that’s all.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I take another drink of my coffee. “I think I want her to mean more. If she’ll give me another chance.”
Kyla winks. “Work on communication. The rest will come.”
Chapter 12
Marilyn
It’s difficult to concentrate on my clients’ financial profiles when my thoughts continually circle back to Ricky and his interview dinner tonight. I must be a masochist because when I woke this morning, I was more worried about him at the dinner than I was about my own feelings. Last night, it was the exact opposite. The sense of rejection was heavier than it had been seven years ago.
That long ago, I didn’t know what to feel. I’d agreed to our terms. I was upset Ricky had stuck to them, which, in hindsight, wasn’t fair to him. Last night was different. While he’d given the same no-strings speech, last night was about helping a friend, a friend I’ve never gotten over. The entire evening, from our drinks at the bar to our dinner, was enjoyable, more so than I expected. Not a minute with Ricky was boring. No discussion of languages or countries visited.
Somewhere in my inner teenage self, I imagined a path forward.
It isn’t like I’m looking for the love of my life. It’s that after years of navigating the world basically on my own, I saw the possibility of a partner. Ricky could be a partner who understands my day-to-day work and enjoys the comfort of our shared friends and family.
Finding that note on his phone was exponentially more upsetting than the fact that he never called or texted me after our one night—the one night without strings. That note next to my name meant that he not only didn’t plan to call me, but he didn’t want to answer if I called.
“Ms. James,” Klara says as she pushes my office door inward. “You have a delivery.”
I tear my eyes away from my computer screens. “A delivery?”
She comes into my office holding an envelope.
“Why not have the mail person deliver it?” I ask as I take it from her. The paper is thick and soft beneath my fingertips. There’s no address or stamp, just my name written in flowing cursive. I look up at our receptionist. “Did someone hand-deliver this?”
“Yes, ma’am. A man. He didn’t give his name, only asked if you were here and if I could take this to you.”
“Should we have it tested for anthrax?” I ask with a grin.
She lifts her hands. “I hope not.” Her smile returns. “He seemed nice enough. Handsome, too.”
“Thank you, Klara.”
“I think you have an admirer.”
“If I do, it will be the best thing to happen in a long time.”
Klara closes the office door on her way out, leaving me staring down at the envelope. Assuming it isn’t poisonous, I should probably open it. As I reach for my letter opener, a rarely used office tool, my cell phone vibrates, and I see Devan’s name on the screen. A quick look at the clock tells me that school is probably out for the weekend.
“Hey,” I say as I answer.
“I’m mad at you.”
“You are?” I ask, leaning forward, suddenly worried why one of my best friends would be mad at me, but knowing the answer in the pit of my stomach. “Devan, you can’t be mad. You’re one of my best friends.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are.”
“Do we tell each other everything?” she asks.
Shit.
“We tell each other almost everything.”
“Marilyn, I’ve shared everything with you. You told me your first sex was with a guy at Ball State. You said he was handsome and smooth-talking and you never wanted to see him again. I believed you.”
