She nearly smiled. That was the closest to an admission of imperfection or an apology as John had ever come. “We don’t seem to have the best luck in romance, do we?”

“Well, how about if two unlucky people meet later?”

“I don’t know…”

“You have someone? Some guy?”

She laughed in spite of herself. There were never any guys. Colleagues, project managers. Probably the only reason she’d accidentally married Max was fatigue; they had worked so hard and long together, marriage had seemed a natural progression. John was practically the only “guy” she’d ever had. Briefly. “I have a couple of guys. Four-year-old guys,” she said.

“How about if, for now, it’s just you and me?”

Leigh sighed. “I’m still not very good at this sort of thing, John. I’m so clumsy in relationships. I don’t mean to be, and I don’t want to be… I’m very quick with mathematical problems. I just—ugh—I’m a mother now. I have to be more careful, because when I get in over my head, the boys can get hurt.”

“We had an affair that messed us both up,” he said. “Since we’re still fighting like we used to, maybe we’re still not through this. Shouldn’t we talk about it? Rationally?”

She looked into his dark brown eyes. He had eyes like Bambi. Eyes you could fall into and drown. Arms by Adonis, face by Prince Charming, temperament by Attila the Hun. She smiled at him. “You have a ponytail.”

He had to think for a minute. “Oh, yeah. It’s not a bad ponytail, though. Is it?”

“No,” she said. Ponytails were in again, but with John it was unclear whether he was being fashionable or lazy. In her memory of him, fashion was low on his list of priorities. Fashion, children and commitment. But he was such a cute renegade. “The Steak House?”

“Yeah. Let’s get your keys.” He lifted his hand toward her elbow and let it sort of hover there, undecided. Then, with a contrite, helpless look, touched her briefly. She felt a tremor. She knew she was in up to her neck right now. If he touched her again, she would crumble.

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Leigh arrived at seven, and John was already there. She wore a silk jumpsuit with a decorative scarf slung over one shoulder, earrings made of shells, and beige flats. She looked fashionably chic according to Jess, who had cheerfully—maybe too cheerfully—checked her over before she went out the door. This time Leigh was not pretending to join the Sierra Club. “You’ll be delighted to know that your favorite maintenance man has asked me to meet him for a glass of wine,” she had said.