Barbecue, I thought as I drove. I could pick up something on the way. We could eat in his office. Like a picnic. With the blinds closed, for privacy. No one to see, no babies to interrupt, just two consenting adults sharing lunch over a large, horizontal surface.

I’d told John I wanted him to be happy. Barbecue and sex should do the job.

I pictured myself walking into his office. Hello, you, I’d say. I have plans for you.

I’d lock the door to his office, and he’d smile at me, that slow, it’s-going-to-be-good-honey smile, and I’d grab his tie, tugging him closer, pulling him to stand between my shaved legs. He’d sweep the papers to the floor with one arm and lay me down and we’d do it on his desk, in his office, surrounded by windows. My blood surged.

Ssh, he’d whisper, while he touched me, his hands making me hot from the inside, and it would feel so right, so good I’d scream . . .

No screaming. Not at the dealership. Trey’s office was right down the hall. The receptionist, Kelly, would hear. John would be horrified.

Or maybe not. Maybe . . . My heart beat faster, thinking about it. I could hardly wait.

The holiday sales event was in full swing at the dealership. A big red bow decorated the shiny Ford truck at the showroom entrance. Clusters of red and green Mylar balloons floated over the receptionist’s kiosk.

“Merry Christmas, Kelly!” I called cheerfully. “Is John with a client?”

Kelly looked up from her monitor. “Hey, Meg. No, he’s—”

“Good. Don’t buzz him.” I smiled. “I want to surprise him.”

“He’s not here.”

“But I brought lunch,” I said stupidly. Like that made a difference. “When is he coming back?”

“Not until two. Sorry.” Her sympathy sounded genuine. “I’ll be sure to tell him you stopped by.”

“Meg!” Trey emerged from the glass-fronted offices behind her, looking like an Italian car ad in a slim, dark suit with a slim, dark shirt open at the neck. No tie. If you were the owner’s grandson, you didn’t need to follow the dress code. “What a nice surprise. Getting the car detailed today?”

“I came to see John.”

“He’s not here.”

“I told her,” Kelly said.

Trey’s gaze fell to the white barbecue bag in my grasp. “Is that from Hooper’s?”

His hopeful expression reminded me of the hungry boy who used to hang around Momma’s kitchen, looking for cookies and invitations to dinner. “It is.” I pulled myself together. “Want a pulled-pork sandwich, extra slaw?”

“That would be great. I’m starving. Come back to my office and we’ll eat.”

“Well. If you’re sure I won’t be interrupting . . .” I still had an hour before I had to pick up the twins.

“I always have time for your family, you know that. Kelly, can you grab us some sodas?”

So I had my picnic after all. In Trey’s office. With the blinds open.