I was speechless.

“I just want to be married, Deb’rah,” he said plaintively. “I’m tired of bars and pickup lines and trying to be funny. I’m tired of living in a bachelor apartment. I want a real home. I want to plant trees, cut the grass, buy family-size packs of meat at the grocery store. I want somebody beside me I can laugh with and enjoy coming home to every night, somebody who won’t be jealous because I love my son and like having him here whenever Jonna will let me.”

“But what about love?” I asked. “You’re not in love with me, Dwight.”

“So? You’re not in love with me, either, but we like each other, right? I mean, you don’t think I’m repulsive, do you? Or all that hard to be around?”

“Of course not. It’s just that I’ve never thought of you that way before.”

“Nothing will change. Except that neither of us’ll have to go home after the movie’s over.” This time, he did shoot me a grin before turning his eyes back to the line of cars coming at us.

“But what about—?” Suddenly I felt shy. “What about sex?”

“I like it,” he said promptly. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Don’t tell me you were madly in love with every guy you ever slept with.”

“Maybe not to begin with, but I certainly meant to be or I wouldn’t have. And anyhow, just how many do you think there’ve been?” I asked indignantly, mentally counting up even as I spoke.

They would all fit comfortably on the fingers of one hand, so it’s not like my bed’s been a revolving door. All the same, Dwight had a point. In fact, he had several. He’s decent and caring. Takes his obligations seriously and he’s not exactly hard to look at either, not with that solid build and strong face. And yes, we were comfortable with each other... most of the time.

But marriage? Sex?

He kept glancing over at me as he drove, but now it was my turn to stare straight ahead as I considered the ramifications. My family would be over the moon, of course, but what about Cal? Dwight often brought him out to the farm when the child was down for a long weekend or for his summer vacation and he always seemed happy enough in my company. All the same, things would surely be different if his dad and I were married.

Married.

There was something awfully final to that word. Yet, wouldn’t it be a relief to be done with all the games? Playing the field sounds glamorous at seventeen, amusing at twenty-seven, but at thirty-seven the field was getting pretty damn thin and a lot less amusing with each passing year. Did I want to be like the friends who were still hanging at Miss Molly’s every weekend, hoping to get lucky, hoping not to spend the rest of their lives alone?

“How come you and Jonna really busted up?” I asked.