The waiter set a gold-rimmed Versace plate in front of Lilly with a tiny square of aspic containing slivers of poached lobster surrounded by a trail of saffron sauce that had been whipped into a creamy froth. Mallory’s plate held a wafer-thin slice of salmon accented with capers and a few transparent slices of julienned apple. Lilly mentally compared calories.

“Stop obsessing. You worry so much about your weight that you’ve lost sight of how gorgeous you still are.”

Lilly deflected the well-meaning lecture she’d heard before by reaching behind her chair and coming up with the gift bag. The waterfall of French ribbon she’d tied around the handles brushed her wrist as she handed it over.

Mallory’s eyes lit up with delight. “It’s your birthday, Lilly. Why are you giving me a present?”

“Coincidence. I finished it this morning, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Mallory tore at the ribbons. Lilly sipped her kir as she watched, trying not to show how much Mallory’s opinion meant.

Her friend pulled out the quilted pillow. “Oh, sweetie …”

“The design might be too strange,” Lilly said quickly. “It’s just an experiment.”

She’d taken up quilting during Craig’s illness, but the traditional patterns hadn’t satisfied her for long, and she’d begun to experiment with designs of her own. The pillow she’d made for Mallory had a dozen shades and patterns of blue swirling together in an intricate design, while a trail of delicate gold stars peeped out from unexpected places.

“It’s not strange at all.” Mallory smiled at her. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve done so far, and I’ll always treasure it.”

“Really?”

“You’ve become an artist.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just something to do with my hands.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Mallory grinned. “Is it coincidence that you used the colors of your favorite football team?”

Lilly hadn’t even realized it. Maybe it was a coincidence.

“I’ve never understood how you turned into such a sports fan,” Mallory said. “And not even a West Coast team.”

“I like the uniforms.”

Lilly managed a shrug and turned the conversation in another direction. Her thoughts, however, remained stuck.

Kevin, what have you done?

Chef Rick Bayless’s cutting-edge Mexican cuisine made the Frontera Grill one of Chicago’s favorite spots for lunch, and before Molly had given away her money, she’d frequently eaten here. Now she ate at this North Clark Street restaurant only when someone else was picking up the check, in this case Helen Kennedy Schott, her editor at Birdcage Press.

“… we’re all very committed to the Daphne books, but we do have some concerns.”

Molly knew what was coming. She’d submitted Daphne Takes a Tumble in mid-January, and she should have given Helen at least an idea about her next book by now. But Daphne Finds a Baby Rabbit had gone into the trash, and Molly had a devastating case of writer’s block.

In the two months since her miscarriage she hadn’t been able to write a word, not even for Chik. Instead, she’d kept busy with school book talks and a local tutoring program for preschoolers, forcing herself to focus on the needs of living children instead of the baby she’d lost. Unlike the adults Molly met, the children didn’t care that she was the about-to-be-ex-wife of the city’s most famous quarterback.