I now recognize the woman standing beside Ethan from the few StoryTime visits she made with Mia—Jen, Alex called her. She’s beautiful. Petite, hourglass curves, sky-blue eyes, honey-blond hair swept into an artfully messy bun. She’s rocking skin-tight bike shorts better than I ever could and swimming in one of Ethan’s WashU T-shirts.
My brain snags on that last detail, but I tear it away with a rip, dragging my focus to Ethan. My ex-husband is in lounge clothes, too. His normally pale cheeks are flushed, his light-brown hair mussed as if hands have tousled it. I used to think he had such handsome soft brown eyes; now I just notice they’re avoiding mine.
Alex crouches as Mia rushes down the stairs, right into his waiting arms, at the same time that Argos loses the battle with his obedience training and barrels down the steps into my knees. I bend to hug him, lavished with licks to my chin and cheeks in greeting. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, burying my face in his neck. I missed him so much.
“You’re late,” Jen says to Alex.
“Sorry,” he tells her, eyes on his daughter as she shows him a painted pebble in her hand. “Construction traffic. I texted to let you know.”
Mia glances my way, and her midnight-blue eyes go wide. “Miss Thea!” She waves up at me. “Hi!”
I smile down at her. “Hi, Mia. I like your pajamas.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I wore them all day.”
“Nothing better than a pajama day,” I tell her.
“Mommy says I can’t wear them to preschool, though.”
“Well,” I say, trying to be diplomatic, “that… makes sense.”
Mia huffs like she thinks it really doesn’t.
It makes me smile. Alex smiles, too.
“So,” Jen says. She tugs at the hem of Ethan’s shirt that she’s wearing, glancing between Alex and me. “You two… know each other?”
For a second, I’m thrown by her question, but then I consider what this must look like to her: Alex and I showed up at the same time. We’re standing, albeit unintentionally, quite close, as if banded together. Mia knows me and was happy to see me.
“Sure seems like it,” Ethan says. His eyes are fixed on Alex. He has yet to look at me. “Judging by the fact that the Ring camera showed you two being all chummy out here for ten minutes before you made it to the door.” Ethan adds, still locked in on Alex, “Just think. If you hadn’t been out here wasting time, you wouldn’t have been nearly as late to get your daughter.”
Alex stands from where he’s been crouched with Mia. His eyes are hard.
My gaze ping-pongs between Alex, Ethan, and Jen. Tension thickens the air. I peer down at Mia, glancing between the adults surrounding her, her little face drawn tight with anxiety. My heart twists.
I know, down the road, I’m going to look back on this moment and have to admit that I wasn’t solely motivated by my desire to protect Mia. I’m angry at Ethan for his rude, manchild behavior. My pride is wounded that I’m standing in front of my ex and a beautiful woman he’s obviously already tumbled into bed with,while I look like a disheveled hedgehog in worn-out Birkenstocks who’s been crying for the better part of the last twenty-four hours. And I feel an odd sense of camaraderie with Alex, whose life, much like mine, seems squarely in dumpster-fire territory.
Before I can think better of it, I do the first thing that comes to mind—I tell a story. In other words, a big old lie.
“Yes,” I say to everyone, “we do know each other. Alex and I are actually friends.” I fumble for a beat then add, “Oldfriends.”
Everyone’s focus snaps my way.
“What?” Jen says.
Ethan’s eyes narrow as they finally land on me. “Oldfriends?”
I glance at Alex, who’s staring at me, one eyebrow arched.What are you up to?his expression says.
With my wide-eyed look of panic, I tell him,Hell if I know.
A sly smile curves at the edge of his mouth. “It’s true.” He glances toward Jen and Ethan. “I met Thea when we were teens,” he fibs smoothly. “In the parking lot outside Busch Stadium. A tailgate for the Cards-Buccos game when we stopped in St. Louis on the Bruscato-family road trip.” He glances back at me and grins. “We hit it offrightaway.”
I’m a pretty bad liar, even worse at thinking on my feet. If I’d read fewer books, this is when I’d botch this ridiculous, snowballing deception. But I’ve read a lot of books, so I pull from one of the many stories I’ve loved and add, “Instant friendship. Pen pals for years. This guy,” I tell Ethan and Jen, “can write a letter.”
Jen slips a little closer to Ethan. Ethan’s got his hands shoved in his sweatpants’ pockets. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hard.
“We lost touch over the years,” I explain. “You know how life goes.” Smiling down at Mia, then up at Alex, I say, “Until these two walked into StoryTime at The Bookshop.”