He looked at his glass. “I’ll take that beer after all.” He got up and helped himself, then came back and sat down in the easy chair. “I wanted to be a dad. Always have. Gillian and I didn’t work out, and I wasn’t . . . I didn’t find anyone else. One day Mickey and I ran into each other at Frankie’s, and we had a drink, and we started talking. She got pregnant two months later.”

“And how was that? Sex with a lesbian?”

“You’re incredibly rude and nosy.”

“And yet you feel compelled to answer.” I grinned at him, knowing he’d spill.

“Let’s just say we were both thinking of someone else.”

“Heidi Klum? For both of you?”

Another laugh. “Something like that.”

“How many times did you—”

“Once, okay?”

“Wow. She’s fertile. Lucky.”

He smiled at his beer, shaking his head.

“And what about Gillian?” I said. “Why not her? I saw your . . . ah, shit, I might as well come clean. I stalked her Facebook page and saw your pictures. You looked really happy, Noah.”

“Yeah. We were happy for a while.” I waited. He didn’t say any more.

“Did she cheat on you?” I asked, wanting to kick her if the answer was yes. How could you cheat on Noah? Noah! Was it because he was a blue-collar guy and she was—

“No, no. Nothing like that. She . . . she’s got a lot of really great qualities.”

“You’re making her sound like a monster.”

His mouth pulled up. “She’s not. She was a little crazy with the wedding planning, but it goes with the territory, right? That was fine. Things were . . . nice. We’d even put an offer on a house.”

“Wow.” I already knew this, thanks to her Facebook posts, but hearing it from Noah, the news had more of a resonance. That would have been huge for him, buying a house with someone.

“Yeah. So we . . . disagreed on decorating.” He looked at his beer.

“Ah, yes, I can see how that would split you right down the middle. ‘Blue? I hate blue! It’s over!’” He smiled a little. “So what really happened, Noah?”

He was staring into that beer real hard. “She wanted me to get rid of something that meant a lot to me.”

“Was it your hair? She was Delilah to your Sampson?”

“No, not my hair, idiot.”

“Your first tooth? The family Bible? What?”

He didn’t answer for a beat or two. Kept staring into that beer. “A painting some girl gave me a long time ago.”

He looked up then, and I felt the full force of his dark eyes like a rogue wave, knocking my heart over with its power.

“You broke up over a painting?”

“More or less.”

“My painting? The clouds? You kept that?”

“Of course I kept it.”