Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (find a book to read TXT) 📗

yourself to work through any of this stuff in order to be with him,” Rochelle said. “And that’s a damned shame.”

“I can’t have this conversation with you,” Grace said, twisting the straw wrapper into a tight spiral. “I appreciate that you like Wyatt, and you want us to be together, but I have to do what’s right for me.”

“And if I didn’t love you so much, I would agree with you and let you alone,” Rochelle said. “But I love you too much to watch while you let happiness slip right through your fingers. You walked away from Ben when you found out he was a cheater. And I supported you on that. One hundred percent. But honey, Wyatt’s not Ben. Wyatt is good and loyal and true, and when I see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him when you think nobody is watching, I know he’s the one. I think you know it, too.”

Grace pushed her drink away. “I don’t know anything. That’s the problem. Yeah, I think I love him. And I thought he loved me. But look what happened with Ben. I had no clue Ben was sleeping with J’Aimee, and they were literally doing it right under my nose. So how can I be sure Wyatt is the one? We only met two months ago.”

“Just trust your feelings for him,” Rochelle said gently. “And remember, nothing in this life is ever going to be one hundred percent for certain. But you can’t just hide out, never risk getting hurt again. What kind of life would that be?”

“A safe one,” Grace said.

“No.” Rochelle shook her head vehemently. “Not safe. Boring. Sad. A total waste.”

*   *   *

Grace sat on the bench on Coquina Beach and hugged Sweetie to her chest. The tide was out and a lone gray heron was stalking something in the calm shallow water. It was the same bench she’d sat on with Wyatt only a few days earlier. Sweetie wriggled in her arms, lifted her chin, and licked Grace’s chin. She glanced down at the cell phone on the picnic table, for the tenth time in the past hour. Wyatt had called twice that morning and texted her half an hour ago.

His message was short and to the point. She’s gone. I’m not taking her back. You’re what I want.

He seemed so sure. Why couldn’t she be like that?

Because, Grace thought. Because you’re the girl who painted her first apartment six different shades of white the first week you were living there. Because you dated Ben for two years and lived with him for another two before finally deciding to marry him.

She’d waited and waffled after meeting Ben, and still she’d made a mistake. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe mistakes were inevitable. But maybe this time, she really had found the one. There was only one way to find out for sure.

Grace snatched up the phone and tapped the icon beside Wyatt’s name. She wouldn’t give herself any more time to think, wouldn’t have second thoughts. This time around, she would just go with her heart.

“Grace?” Wyatt answered on the first ring.

“Don’t talk,” Grace said hurriedly. “Just tell me where you want to meet.”

“Anywhere you want,” Wyatt said. “Can it wait ’til I close up the park at five? Bo is at Scout’s house. Dad can stay with him after I bring him back here. Are we all still meeting at the Sandbox tonight?”

“Yes, and yes,” Grace said. “I’ll be at Mitzi’s condo.”

65

Grace paced back and forth in the small living room, stopping every five minutes to look out the window at the parking lot, to adjust the drapes, fluff a pillow, or check her makeup in the mirror. She hadn’t been this nervous about meeting a man since her first real car date at the age of fifteen. Her palms were actually sweaty.

She’d taken pains with her makeup and had actually changed outfits three times—not that she had that many changes of clothes to begin with—before settling on a pair of blue seersucker capris and a sleeveless white blouse. God help her—she’d even painted her toenails a vivid crimson shade called Sassy Lassie.

Sweetie lay on a throw pillow on the sofa, looking perplexed by Grace’s nervous energy.

Grace was midway through her third circuit of the condo when her phone rang. She leapt to grab it, but paused when she saw the caller ID.

Ashleigh Hartounian. Probably, Grace thought, she was calling to ask about that night’s get-together at the bar.

“Hi, Ashleigh,” she said.

“Graaaace.” Ashleigh was sobbing.

“Are you all right?”

“Nooooo,” Ashleigh wailed. “I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay.”

“What is it?” Grace asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s … it’s … Boyce.”

Now Grace remembered: today was the day Ashleigh’s ex-husband had invited her out to lunch. This was the day Ashleigh expected to win him back and return to her fairy-tale existence as the doctor’s wife. Obviously, things hadn’t gone as Ashleigh had anticipated.

“Do you want to talk?” Grace asked, hoping she didn’t. She was standing in front of the window, craning her neck to see out to the parking lot, watching for Wyatt’s car. It was after five.

“No! I’m so upset, I feel like my head is gonna explode.”

“Well…” Grace started.

“That bitch Suchita!” Ashleigh said. “I should have expected she’d pull a stunt like this. That’s all it is, a stunt, to try to trap Boyce.”

“Suchita?” Grace was drawing a blank. A truck pulled into the complex’s parking lot, but it wasn’t Wyatt’s.

“You know, Suchita. That little slut drug rep he’s been sleeping with. She’s the one who got me in trouble with Stackpole in the first place.”

“Ohhh,” Grace said. “The woman whose house you painted. Now I remember. What’s she done to trap Boyce?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Grace had a sinking feeling she knew just what Suchita had done.

“She got herself knocked up! Or so she says. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but Boyce is such a dummy he never saw