They exchanged social kisses just as if Mallory hadn’t held Lilly in her arms more than once through the ordeal of Craig’s long illness and death two years ago.

“Do you hate me for being late for your birthday dinner?”

Lilly smiled. “I know you’ll be surprised to hear this, but after twenty years of friendship I’ve gotten used to it.”

Mallory sighed. “We’ve been together longer than either of my marriages lasted.”

“That’s because I’m nicer than your ex-husbands.”

Mallory laughed. The waiter appeared to take her drink order, then pressed them to try an amuse-bouche of ratatouille tart with goat cheese while they contemplated the menu. Lilly briefly considered the calories before she agreed to the tart. It was her birthday, after all.

“Do you miss it a lot?” Mallory inquired when the waiter left.

Lilly didn’t have to ask what Mallory meant, and she shrugged. “When Craig was sick, caring for him took so much of my energy that I didn’t think about sex. Since he died, there’s been too much to do.” And I’m so fat I’d never let any man see my body.

“You’re so independent now. Two years ago you didn’t have a clue what was in your financial portfolio, let alone know how to manage it. I can’t tell you how much I admire the way you’ve taken charge.”

“I didn’t have any choice.” Craig’s financial planning had left her wealthy enough that she no longer needed work to support herself, only to give her life purpose. In the past year she’d had a small part as the sexy mother of the male star in a halfway decent movie. She’d been able to carry it off because she was a pro, but the whole time they were filming, she’d had to struggle against a sense of the ridiculous. For a woman of her size and age still to be playing sexpots, even aging ones, seemed somehow absurd.

She didn’t like having her sense of identity wrapped up in a profession for which she no longer had a passion, but acting was all she knew, and with Craig’s death she needed to keep busy or she’d think too much about the mistakes she’d made. If only she could peel away the years and go back in time to that crucial point where she’d lost her way.

The waiter returned with Mallory’s drink, the amuse-bouche, and a lengthy explanation of the menu’s many courses. After they’d made their selections, Mallory lifted her champagne flute. “To my dearest friend. Happy birthday, and I’ll kill you if you don’t love your present.”

“Gracious as always.”