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  “What?” I snapped my head toward him so fast, something popped in my neck.

  “I’ll give you the other twenty grand.”

  “I don’t want your money!”

  “You need it. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? Because you need money?”

  “No! You’re twisting the whole thing into something it isn’t! I came to you because a client requested you, not because I need your money, Nick. I told you—I want to do this on my own.”

  He shrugged. “Think of it as a loan, then.”

  “A loan?”

  “Yes. That way you don’t have to ask your parents for anything. I’ll even charge you interest if you want.”

  Could I? Could I, really? It was one of those moments in life where I wanted a pause button so I could powwow with Mia and Erin before giving an answer. I had that feeling in my gut, the dessert tray feeling, like what I wanted was right there in front of me, and all I had to do was take it. But the thing was, I knew what Erin and Mia would say.

  Erin: This is a Very Bad Idea.

  Mia: Five Reasons Why You Should Not Take His Money…

  They’d never tell me not to order dessert, but taking money from an ex seemed like a clear-cut no.

  “I don’t know, Nick. It doesn’t seem right.”

  He put a hand on my leg. “I’m investing in a friend. And in a historic home. In a neighborhood and a city I love.”

  Damn. He was hot and he knew how to spin things. I chewed on my lower lip.

  Putting the car in park, he shifted on the seat to face me, checking behind us to make sure there wasn’t a car waiting for us to move forward. “Listen. You think I wanted to be on Lick My Plate? I didn’t. It’s a ridiculous show with very little to do with real cooking, and I knew my credibility would take a hit.

  But I couldn’t get backing from investors to open a space in Detroit without putting my name out there a little. So I gritted my teeth and did it, and it paid off.”

  “That’s different,” I argued.

  “No, it isn’t. You don’t want to borrow money from me because of your pride. I get it. But unless you want your dream house to go to someone else, or you want to ask Mom and Dad for the money and deal with all their opinions, you should just grit your teeth and do it. Take it.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” I said quietly. Was he doing this because he felt guilty about what he’d done to me seven years ago? Or did he really want to invest in me?

  “I can afford it. Look, I’m not a millionaire or anything, but I won some prize money and have several endorsements. And you’ll pay it back—we’ll work out a payment schedule. We can even involve my lawyer if it makes you feel better. Then it’s totally official.”

  I swallowed, gulping back the yes that was dying to escape my throat. For once in my life, I was not going to jump too soon and do the wrong thing. “No. Thank you, but no…I really want to do this on my own if I can.”

  “OK. I won’t pressure you about it. The offer’s on the table.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He put the car in drive. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy. The house does need some renovating, and I think they should come down in price, but it’s a beautiful old place. I totally see you in it.”

  Smiling, I slipped my sunglasses on as we pulled onto Jefferson, wondering if he saw himself in it, too.

  Fucking me in the butler’s pantry, perhaps.

  But I thought it best not to ask.

  We didn’t talk at all on the ride to the farm, mostly because once we got on the interstate, it was too noisy with the top down. But once we exited I-75 and got on smaller highways and then country roads, the ride was quieter.

  It had been so long since I’d driven through a rural area—I lived in the suburbs, worked in the city, and when I traveled, I usually flew somewhere urban and outside of Michigan, like Chicago or New York. I’d forgotten how pretty and restful the Midwestern countryside was on a clear summer day, everything warm and golden. I loved the old red barns, the solid little brick farmhouses, the Victorians with their lacy trim and old-fashioned front porches. The neat green rows of beans and cabbage, thick fields of sweet corn and sugar beets, huge cylinders of hay dotting the flat, still landscape. Horses and cows grazed in paddocks fenced with railroad ties, and occasionally I’d see children on swings hanging from big old trees or jumping on trampolines in their yards.

  And of course, there were orchards. Would I ever be able to pass an apple orchard without feeling like my panties might melt? Tipping my head back against the seat, I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face as memories warmed by body. Beside me, Nick cleared his throat. Was he thinking about it, too?

  “I’m hungry,” he announced.

  I almost laughed. He was thinking about food, not sex. I picked up my head. “Are you?”

  “Yes. Want to have a picnic?”

  “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

  “OK. There’s a little country store up here. We’ll buy some picnic food, and then I know the perfect spot to go eat.”

  Of course he did. He knew the perfect way to do everything. I couldn’t stop thinking about his offer. The way he’d described it, sort of like a business loan, appealed to me, but was I just rationalizing it because I wanted the house so badly? What if repairs ate up all my money and I couldn’t pay him back? Wouldn’t it be easier to say to my parents, Hey I’m a little short this month, than it would be to face Nick—or God forbid, his lawyer—and have to say the same?

  I knew he would offer a low interest rate and give me a fair payment schedule, but still…this kept him in my life. I’d be tied to him until I paid off the debt. Could I handle that? Clearly he didn’t have a problem doing business with his ex-wife, and maybe he saw this as a way to make amends for what he’d done. Atonement.

  Was I prepared to offer that?

  Or maybe he got a kick out of being in the position to lend me money after all the time he spent feeling bad about himself because I grew up wealthy and he hadn’t. Maybe it was an ego boost. That was possible.

  I fretted about it as he turned off the road into the dirt parking lot of a store housed in a little old barn. I wanted the money, but I didn’t want to feel icky about it. At least, I didn’t want to feel ickier than if I took my parents’ money.

  Ugh, there was no good way to go about this. Bottom line was, I couldn’t afford the house. I should just let it go.

  “Want to come in?” Nick turned off the car and opened his door.

  “No. I’ll wait here. I have to check my messages anyway. Go on, you can choose lunch. I trust you.”

  “Dangerous words, cupcake.”

  I returned his smile, but I felt a little like crying.

  God, why couldn’t I have fallen in love with something else, something small and reasonable? Something new, perhaps, that didn’t need so much work? Why did I have to want something old and broken down…something I couldn’t have?

  #

  While Nick was in the store, I checked my text and messages. Erin had texted, wanting to know how things were going, and Mia had sent me a long list of things she was freaking out about. I messaged Erin back that I was fine and told Mia to relax, for the millionth time. Her wedding would be perfect. I said I was out shopping for the day but if she wanted help, I’d be around tomorrow and Monday. Secretly I hoped she wouldn’t, though. One look at me and she’d know something was up.

  My mother had left a voicemail, letting me know she and my father had decided to go up to their place in Harbor Springs for the week and could I please remember it was trash day on Thursday and not to leave the air conditioning lower than 73 when I went to work in the morning and Sitty had an eye doctor appointment on Tuesday afternoon, would I be available to take her?

  The woman exhausted me without even being in the room. I texted back that I’d follow all instructions and yes, I could take Sitty to the appointment.

  I had one more voicemail—fr
om Angelina.

  “Coco, could you please call me back right away? Thanks.”

  Steeling myself for another conversation with her, I returned her call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Angelina. It’s Coco.”

  “Oh, hey. I keep thinking about the whole theme thing.”

  “I thought we settled this. It’s going to be beautiful as planned, I promise.”

  “I know, but it seems a little tame, you know? I came up with some ideas and narrowed it down to two—The Great Gatsby or True Blood.”

  My stomach dropped. “Um—“

  “I think I’m leaning toward Gatsby though, because of the fun costumes. I’m like eighty, forty on it.”

  My head throbbed. “That doesn’t even add up to one hundred percent.”

  “I’m not a hundred percent on anything,” she said, like it was obvious.

  Oh my God. “Angelina, I’m away for the weekend. Let’s talk again Monday, OK?”

  “OK. I’ll keep thinking about it.”

  “You do that. Bye.” I ended the call before she could say anything else and turned my phone off.

  A moment later Nick came out of the store with a brown paper bag tucked under one arm and a quilt hanging over the other one. “Here’s our lunch,” he said, handing me the bag, “and our four hundred dollar picnic blanket.” He tossed the quilt in the back seat and slid behind the wheel.

  My jaw dropped. “Four hundred dollars!”

  He nodded happily. “It’s Amish.”

  I glanced back at the brightly colored patchwork quilt. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use those as picnic blankets.”

  “Hey, listen.” He tapped me on the nose. “I only have so many hours left to impress you. Show you how far I’ve come in life.” He started the car and the engine roared loudly.

  About twenty minutes later, he turned onto an old gravel road sandwiched between a cornfield on the left and a forest on the right. A clearing appeared in the trees about two hundred feet down. At first glance it looked like a grassy yard, surrounded by forest on three sides, like maybe a house had once stood there. But when Nick pulled over to the side of the road to park, I saw a little cemetery in one corner of the clearing.

  “What is this place?” I glanced around. Not a house or barn or car in sight. Quiet but for the chirp of crickets and the wind in the trees.

  “Noni thinks at one time there may have been a little church here. My grandparents’ farm is just up the road and we used to go exploring through the woods sometimes. One day my brothers and I wandered farther than usual and came across this place.”

  I got out of the car, carrying the grocery bag in my arm, leaving my purse and phone in the car. It was so serene and pretty here, and it felt so removed from the noise and hustle of my usual life, I didn’t want any distractions from what was right in front of me. Nick reached into the back for the quilt and followed me to a shady spot near the corner where perhaps only twenty old headstones rose from the ground, some tilted and toppling, weeds and wildflowers growing up around them.

  I stopped and turned around. “This OK?”

  “Sure.” He spread the quilt on the ground and reached for the grocery bag.

  After handing it over, I walked among the markers, curious about whose forgotten graves were here. Not a bad place to rest, I mused, taking in the picturesque setting, but it was clear no one had tended to this place in quite some time. While Nick unpacked our picnic, I examined the stones, trying to read names and dates etched into limestone and marble that had eroded over time. Most were small and rectangular, but there were a few larger monuments marked with crosses at the top. From what I could tell, the majority of people here had died between the eighteen forties and the early twentieth century. The names were German for the most part, but there were a few French and Irish surnames as well.

  “Anyone you know?” called Nick.

  Leaning over, I ran my fingers across the face of a stone marking the grave of a young woman, just twenty-one when she died. A cool breeze fluttered along the back of my neck. “No. Just curious about them, that’s all. I’m a history nerd, can’t help it.”

  “I don’t mind. But lunch looks pretty good here.”

  Straightening, I walked back to the quilt and dropped to my knees. “It does look good.” Nick had bought two sandwiches made with thick slices of rustic country bread and layered with turkey and cheese and vegetables, a jar of pickles, a container of blackberries, a bag of potato chips, and two bottles of water.

  We ate in companionable silence, broken only by the crunch of a pickle or chip, the song of birds in the trees, and the occasional buzz of a fly interested in our lunch.

  When I was done, I lay on my back on the blanket, full and warm. A little sunlight filtered through the branches of the birch tree overhead, turning its leaves from green to silver as they fluttered in the breeze. Closing my eyes, I thought about how different life would have been for a woman my age living around here a hundred years ago. At twenty- eight, I’d probably have been married with a whole bunch of kids—if I survived the birth of them all. I wondered about the young woman whose stone I’d seen and hoped she’d had at least some happiness in life.

  “You sleeping?”

  I propped myself up on my elbows. “No. Just trying to imagine life as a farm wife a hundred years ago.”

  He smiled. “Why?”

  “There’s a grave over there of a woman who was only twenty-one when she died.” I glanced over my shoulder toward her headstone. “Made me think about her life. What did she get the chance to do? What were her greatest joys? Her biggest regrets?”

  Nick nodded and popped a blackberry in his mouth. “What do you think she died of?”

  “Probably childbirth.”

  “Right.” A breeze ruffled my dress up around my hips. Nick reached over and smoothed it down over my thighs, leaving his hand there. “You want kids someday?”

  “Maybe. What about you?”

  “Definitely.”

  His certainty surprised me. In college, neither of us had been sure. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I loved growing up in a full house. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we had a lot of fun.” He smiled. “Drove my mother crazy. She used to yell herself hoarse. God, we were so bad. She used to chase us around with a broom and whack our butts with it if she caught us.”

  I laughed. “Really? I never knew that.”

  “Oh yeah. Why do you think I’m such a fast runner? Years of practice saving my ass from her damn broom.” He stretched out on his side, head in his hand. “I can still see her with that thing. It was one of those old-fashioned ones with a wooden handle and red stitching and the straw stuff all different lengths.”

  “And these memories make you want children?” I asked dubiously.

  “Sure. It was a noisy life, but we were never bored.” He was quiet a moment, during which I lay back and closed my eyes again. “Do you think,” he went on, “if we’d stayed together, we’d have kids by now?”

  I had to smile. “Are you picturing me going at them with a broom?”

  “Honestly, yeah.” He laughed.

  “Are they boys or girls?”

  “Hmm. One of each. No—two of each.”

  My eyes popped open and I propped myself up again. “Four kids? I’m only twenty-eight!”

  “But we’ve been married seven years already. And maybe we have twins.”

  “Lord have mercy. There goes my girlish figure.”

  “No, no, your body is still perfect. I can’t keep my hands off you, which is why we have so many kids.” Slowly he trailed a hand up my leg, over my hip, between my breasts. My nipples puckered as his fingers traced the neckline of my dress, brushing the tops of my breasts. Involuntarily, my lungs filled with fresh air, my chest rising toward his touch. He covered one full breast with his palm, kneading gently, watching his hand on me. Then he reached under my chin, tilting my face toward him. “I’m still crazy about you.”
<
br />   “Nick.” This was dangerous territory.

  Leaning over, he kissed me gently, sweetly, his lips as soft as the summer wind across my skin. “I’m still crazy about you,” he repeated, whispering against my mouth.

  “No more talking.” I rolled over, pushing him onto his back so that I was lying on top of him. His hands moved over my ass, squeezing and pulling me tighter to him. I felt the hardness beneath his jeans and brought my knees astride his hips, freeing my dress so it wasn’t caught between us. Opening my lips, I braced myself on my hands above his shoulders and sought his tongue with mine while my hips rocked in a slow, sensual rhythm.

  He moaned, and I felt him swelling further beneath me. I moved a little faster, grinding hard against the bulge in his pants, wondering if it was against God or nature to have sex in a cemetery where there may or may not have been a church, especially with a man you’d divorced. But he felt so good between my legs—my lower body ached to slide down onto his cock, take control, watch him come undone beneath me.

  “You think it’s wrong to do it right here?” I rubbed my lips back and forth on his before kissing my way to that spot beneath his ear that drove him crazy. I licked it before pressing my mouth to his warm wet skin, smiling when I felt his body shiver.

  “No, I don’t think it’s wrong. I think it’s the rightest thing we could possibly do right now. It’s all kinds of right.” His hands slid under my dress and pulled at my underwear. “But let’s hurry—this road isn’t busy, but it isn’t always this deserted either.”

  No argument here.

  I slipped one leg from my panties, leaving them looped around the other thigh. Glancing over my shoulder at the road—no sign of anyone—I undid his jeans and took his cock in my hand. Rising up on my knees, I positioned the tip between my legs before sinking down on him, inch by mind-blowing inch.

  Nick watched me with a look of pure rapture on his face.

  “Jesus,” he breathed, grabbing my hips. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “And so wet.” I smiled, circling my hips a few times, arching my back to feel pressure where I wanted it. I knew we couldn’t take our time, but I wanted to savor this moment a little—the sweet summer air, Nick’s hot, hard body between my thighs; his thick fullness within me; even the secret thrill of getting caught. I’d never had sex outside in the daylight. It was delightfully liberating. I slid my palms beneath his shirt, flattened them on his torso. Fuck, he was just so gorgeous—I could look at that mouth all day. And those arms—my eyes skimmed over his muscular, tattooed forearms to the strong wrists at my hips. Guided by Nick’s hands, I moved my body over his, faster and faster, the tension pulling tight between us.