Alone with You

Chapter Twenty-One

Gwen

“O kay. Spill,” Dylan ordered, lifting a cracker covered with baked brie from her plate.

“Jeez, can you at least give everyone a minute to get comfortable first?” Angela scolded as she settled into the far corner of my sectional, a glass of white wine in one hand and a small plate of various cheeses in the other.

“What? She said it was an emergency meeting,” Dylan defended.

I’d texted them around lunchtime and begged them to come over for a girls’ night. Their kids didn’t have school since it was spring break, and I’d promised them a cheese board, so it wasn’t a hard sell.

I was fucked. Literally, figuratively, and if you asked my body, most of all, thoroughly .

I’d spent all morning at the restaurant trying to work but only managing to overthink all things Truett West.

He loved me.

He’d always loved me.

After our divorce, I would have killed to hear him say those words to me. It had taken six years for me to move on and even consider dating again. Back then, I was angry and swore to anyone who would listen that I hated him, but for too long, a part of me always assumed he’d come back. Too many nights, I’d dream that he’d suddenly swoop back into my life, sweep me off my feet, apologize profusely, explain that he couldn’t live without me, and then beg me to take him back—essentially exactly what he’d done on Saturday with the addition of mind-blowing sex.

I’d just never thought it would take eighteen freaking years.

I was a different person in a different place in life now. One where I was a forty-one-year-old two-time divorcée, single mom, coparenting with a narcissist, while trying to open my very first restaurant and most recently being stalked by a producer who wanted to make a documentary about the worst day of my life. My plate was full. I had absolutely no room for a relationship with a man as complicated as Truett. And worse, I wasn’t sure there was enough of my heart left to even try.

“Okay, if you’re not ready to start yet, just tell me if I should run out to my car and get my shovel to hide Jeff’s body or not,” Dylan said.

I sighed and then took another sip of my wine. “It’s not about Jeff. He’s at the game with Nate.”

“That producer?” Angela guessed.

“Not him, either. At least not directly anyway.”

“Knock, knock!” Lucille’s voice boomed from the front door as she trotted inside. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing yet. Though it sounds like we don’t need the shovels after all,” Dylan replied.

“Damn,” Lucille said, dropping her bag onto the kitchen counter, and then she got to work pouring a drink for herself. She didn’t bother asking where anything was. She just started opening and closing the cabinets until she found what she was looking for. “I got your text earlier and went out and bought a new spade and everything.”

I scowled at Dylan. “You told her to bring a shovel?”

She nodded with pride. “Yep, and Angela has the garbage bags and duct tape.”

I swung an accusing gaze to little Miss Goody Two Shoes only to find her grinning too.

“We wanted to be prepared.”

I blinked. “I can’t decide if I’m touched or terrified.”

“Let’s go with touched,” Lucille said, plopping down beside me. “Now, if it’s not about that that asshat, why’d you send out an SOS?” Arching her eyebrow, she nudged me in the side. “More hypothetical situations?”

Dammit.

“Hypothetical situations?” Angela questioned.

Lucille crunched on a cracker, while grinning mischievously.

I sighed. Better just to get it over with. I aimed a pointed glare at my two best friends. “Before you two start in on me, just know that I am fully aware of the fact that I have lost my mind.”

The two exchanged a worried glance, but it was Dylan who piped up first. “Well, this should be good.”

Angela shot me a warm smile. “Just know that we’re here for you no matter what.”

“Thank you, I appreciate—”

“You got laid, didn’t ya?” Lucille waggled her eyebrows at me.

My cheeks heated. “Jesus,” I mumbled. But the only thing the women in that room heard was the fact that I did not deny it.

“Holy shit,” Dylan breathed. “Who did you sleep with?”

Lucille turned her entire body toward me. “It was the hot gargoyle, wasn’t it?” At that, she popped me on the hand like I was her child who had tried to touch the hot stovetop. “You slept with the hot gargoyle and you didn’t bother to call me after? You treat me like I’m not even your best friend.”

“Hey,” Dylan objected. She swung a finger between her and Angela. “ We are her best friends. But with a mouth like yours, I hereby name you the keeper of all her secrets from here on out.”

“The hot gar—” Angela’s voice trailed off as realization dawned on her. “Oh my God, you didn’t! You slept with Truett? When? Why? When?”

“You already said when,” Dylan deadpanned, her stare never wavering from me. “But seriously, Gwen. When ?”

I huffed. “I didn’t say I slept with him!”

“You sure didn’t deny it, either,” Lucille mumbled.

Angela moved to the corner of the coffee table and perched in front of me. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “That’s why you’re here. To help me figure that out.”

I scanned their faces.

Lucille had a devious smirk.

Angela’s mouth was tipped in a deep frown, concern lining her forehead.

And then in typical Dylan fashion, she was a mixture of the two, no doubt wanting all the dirty details while also worried another man was about to break me.

“Start at the beginning,” Angela prompted.

“Don’t leave out any of the good stuff, either,” Lucille added.

I let my head fall back against the cushion and sighed heavily. “The beginning? That’s over twenty years ago. Which is exactly why I’m so confused. Let’s just start with Wednesday.”

“You had sex with Truett last Wednesday ?” Dylan asked.

“No. Stop interrupting.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and quickly recapped the incident with Folly on Wednesday night and Truett’s surprise visit with the newspaper and spring rolls on Thursday. I tried to gloss over the kiss, but my best friends were having none of it.

“You kissed him? Last week? And said nothing ?” Angela’s incredulous face scanned mine.

“Well, she said something,” Lucille butted in. “Just happened I was the only one who heard it.”

“Dear God, woman. Can you keep anything private?” I hissed, but it was too late.

“You told Cooter?” Dylan accused. She never could hide her hurt, but she usually did a better job of covering it with sarcasm though.

“No, she sniffed it out,” I argued.

Lucille shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard. She was talking in hypotheticals about her ex. After meeting Captain Shit Head, I’m just happy it was the hot one she chose to lock lips with.”

We all hummed in agreement.

“Okay, so you kissed him Thursday. Then what?” Dylan asked.

Angela chewed on her thumbnail as she waited for my response.

I’d known that it was going to be Twenty Questions times three, but my need for advice clouded my judgment. I’d have probably been better off confiding in the tree in the backyard, but it was too late now. “First of all, he kissed me. And it was amazing.”

Dylan mumbled from behind her wine glass, “It had to have been if you slept with him.” Her head popped up. “Wait, did you sleep with him that same night?”

“No. That happened when he came back to help me on Saturday. You guys know I hate owing anyone, but honestly, I wanted to see him again. Plus, he’s extremely handy and knows what he’s doing.”

“Apparently,” Dylan quipped.

Angela held a hand up. “So Saturday, he shows up and what? You just get naked?”

I shook my head. “Friday, when I talked to Lucille about the kiss, she asked a good question about why we’d gotten divorced in the first place. I spent the rest of the night stewing on the fact that I didn’t have an answer, so when he showed up Saturday, I was already on edge.”

Dylan grinned. “Angry sex. My favorite. Except, ya know, when it’s your ex-husband .”

“I know. I know. But one minute I was demanding an answer, and the next I was naked on my desk, his mouth all over me.”

The memory of his growl when I’d tugged at his shirt echoed in my thoughts. God, how was he able to set me ablaze with nothing more than the touch of his fingers?

“You had sex at the restaurant?” Angela’s mouth fell open.

Lucille laughed. “Remind me to bring bleach wipes with me next time.”

How were these my friends?

Dylan canted her head. “So was this like a one-night stand, or are you considering actually going back to this guy?”

“He asked me to give him a chance and then he told me he loved me.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “And that he always has and still does.”

They all fell silent, a weight tamping out their humor.

“Oh, honey,” Angela whispered.

“He said that, after Nathanial died, he didn’t hurt as much when he was with me, and that wasn’t something he deserved. So he pushed me away.”

“Damn,” Lucille breathed. “That’s heavy.”

Dylan was slightly more cynical. “But that doesn’t explain why he was willing to abandon his family. He filed for divorce before the mall, Gwen.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. I spent all morning wondering if I’d been abducted by aliens and they’d reprogrammed me as a dumber version of myself. But I don’t know how to explain it. There’s still this spark between us and it scares the hell out of me, because I’ve never felt it with anyone but him.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Lucille asked. “It sounds like he’s stirred up some positive feelings that you may have forgotten over the years. Why are you questioning it?”

“Because it’s Truett ,” I explained without really explaining at all.

“Let’s just say their history is…um, well, dark ,” Angela said gently. “We didn’t know Gwen then, but I wish we had so we could have helped her through it.”

I wished like hell for that too. I might have been able to recover faster if I’d had the two of them to lean on. Maybe they could have even talked me out of marrying Jeff. No, strike that. Life with him hadn’t been good, but I’d had Nate because of that marriage. And that alone made those years worth their weight in gold.

“Yeah, I heard about their history, but people can change.” Lucille reasoned.

“Has he changed though?” Dylan asked. “I mean, he doesn’t even leave his house.”

“I don’t know,” Angela said thoughtfully. “It sounds like he’s left it more this week than he has in years. For Gwen .”

“That’s true,” Lucille agreed. “I’ve been working there forever. Man’s always shown up one day a week for one single hour. He’s been there a hell of a lot more since Gwen took over. Something tells me it’s not just for the sandwich he never eats.”

The room was quiet for a minute as I considered the possibility. Had Truett changed? The fact that he was willing to open his damn mouth and have a discussion was definitely a step in the right direction. But the problem was I’d never been the best judge of character. After all, I had married Jeff.

Though I supposed Truett had a lot to do with that too.

When I’d met Jeff, he was the exact opposite of Truett. He was edgy and carefree, never taking no for an answer. It made sense that he was an attorney. He talked incessantly, which had been charming at first and opened up a healthy line of communication I’d always wished I’d had with Truett. Eventually, edgy and carefree turned into controlling and cruel. And the things I said during those supposedly healthy conversations became tools he used to put me down and manipulate me.

But the one thing I knew more than anything else, which was probably a good part of the reason I’d stayed with him as long as I had, was that Jeff would never leave me. His ego was too big to ever admit that kind of failure. So, in some twisted way, I’d convinced myself that knowing what to expect from my future was worth living unhappily in the present.

Truett wasn’t Jeff—not even close.

Though he wasn’t an emotionally abusive asshole, that didn’t mean he couldn’t shatter my heart into a million pieces again. Sure, he left his house more now, and he had found his voice again, but at the first sign of trouble, would he shut down again? Cast me aside? Abandon me when I needed him most?

“Yes, he’s changed,” I admitted. “But maybe it’s too late. I’ve been wearing his scars for so long they’ve become the foundation for who I am and how I love.”

And then leave it to Lucille, the craziest woman I had ever known, to ask the simplest question to ever rock my world. “Do you still love him?”

I closed my eyes, my whole body sagging.

Did I still love him? I barely knew him anymore.

Did I find him sexy and sweet and witty and gentle and funny and protective? Absolutely, but did that constitute love? It was obvious I didn’t hate him anymore, but love wasn’t the opposite of hate. I had love for him. It wasn’t like I wanted anything bad to happen to him. Actually, I wanted him to live a life of happiness and freedom. He’d been through hell and back too many times.

But love?

Like, love love ?

“I don’t know. I love Truett from the past. This guy… I have no clue. We’ve had like ten conversations, one kiss, and some seriously incredible sex.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, I don’t like it,” Dylan said bluntly. “I’ve wanted to cut that man’s balls off for years. Jeff sucked, I hated him, but I think I might hate Truett more.”

Angela’s head swiveled toward Dylan, her eyes bugging. “There’s no way you hate Truett more than Jeff. Truett broke Gwen’s heart, but he didn’t do it on purpose. Can you even imagine everything he’s had to deal with? He was broken too. Jeff shattered her spirit though. That asshole relished in being the one to beat her down. There’s no competition between the two. Jeff wins at being the worst, hands down.”

Dylan shrugged. “All the more reason to scrap ’em both. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

My chest got tight. “What if I don’t want anybody else?”

Angela narrowed her eyes. “Is that what you’re scared of? That you won’t feel this way for anyone else?”

A tear slid down my cheek. “No. I’m afraid I’ll lose eighteen more years with him because I’m too scared he’ll hurt me again to take the chance that he won’t.”

The room filled with sympathetic sighs.

It was Lucille who once again put things into perspective. “Listen, you have to protect yourself. Only you can decide if the reward is worth the risk. But what’s gonna hurt more? Giving it a chance and it not working out? Or never trying and spending the rest of your life wondering what could have been?”

My head swam, indecision paralyzing me. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Think about it. Is he your number three? Because if so, you owe it to yourself to give it a whirl. Number three wasn’t perfect, but that man was mine. Sounds to me like maybe Truett is yours too. Gargoyle warts and all.”

I laughed. Leave it to the most outrageous woman to live in Belton to also be the wisest friend I had.

“Warts?” Angela muttered. “Gross.”

Dylan gagged. “Okay, if warts are involved, we have far bigger problems. Do I need to make you a doctor’s appointment?”

Truett’s deep timbre rang in my ears. “I have never, not ever, not for one fucking second of my entire Godforsaken life, stopped loving you.”

I sat there, thinking back to the first night at The Grille. I’d gone to him when Nate hit him with that spitball instead of letting Lucille handle the cleanup. That wasn’t something you did for someone you hated.

When he’d shown up the first Wednesday after The Grille closed, frantic to get inside, I’d opened that door and had an entire conversation with him, rough as it might have been. I didn’t have to do that.

When he’d sat outside in the rain, I could have left him alone, but I went to him and invited him inside.

I’d worried about him when Folly had shown up and rushed to his side.

I’d kept the booth and offered him an open invitation to come back.

I’d made him a club sandwich so he’d feel comfortable.

I’d tried to protect him when Folly had shown up taking pictures.

I’d driven him home and given him a key to the restaurant.

I’d asked him to kiss me, and then only two days later, I came, crying his name.

No. The opposite of hate was not love. It was indifference. And never, not one day in my life had I ever been indifferent to Truett West.

“I think he’s my number three,” I admitted, the words flying from my mouth like they’d spent eighteen years poised on the tip of my tongue.

Lucille let out a loud clap and slung her arm around my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

“I have no idea what that means.” Angela looked at Dylan. “Do you know what that means?”

Dylan shrugged. “No clue. But it sounds like a good thing. I’m sure, if you give it a second, the motor mouth of Belton will fill us in.”

“Long story,” Lucille answered. “I’ll explain later, but now that we’ve got that sorted, let’s get to the good stuff. We’re going to need all the dirty details. Don’t you go leaving anything out, either. I want to know what he smelled like, how loud you were, and how many times that man got you off.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go that deep into details, but a little girl talk never hurt anyone.

“He told me he was going to make me come so hard I would question whether I’d ever had an orgasm without him.”

“Thank you, Jesus, he’s a dirty talker!” Lucille toppled over, the back of her hand over her forehead, pretending to pass out.

“Shut up,” Angela whispered in awe.

Dylan leaned forward, swirling her glass of wine. “Okay, but did he?”

“You have no idea,” I replied, a massive grin stretching my lips.