Spending time listening to other people talk about their lives had given her some much-needed perspective.
Maybe the real issue was that she was working too much. Not that she needed to work harder. She needed to do something to get out of her head, most likely.
“I know he’s going to propose,” Rebecca said, talking about her boyfriend, Gage.
“That’s great!” Lane said.
“How do you know?” Alison asked, folding her arms and leaning forward on the table.
“You just do,” Cassie said pragmatically.
Cassie had been happily married to her husband, Jake, for a little over three years, and of the group, was definitely the expert on relationships.
“Well, that and he’s terrible at keeping secrets,” Rebecca said. “He left a receipt for the ring in his pants pocket, which I found...”
“When you were doing laundry?” Alison asked.
“No,” she said, “when I was going through his pants pockets.”
Lane snorted. “Well, then that wasn’t too indiscreet of him.”
Rebecca shrugged. “He had better never have an affair. He leaves too clear a paper trail.”
“You’re not actually worried about anything like that, are you?” Cassie asked.
Rebecca shook her head. “No. And I was kidding about going through his pockets. I trust Gage.”
She said it so easily, so matter-of-factly. As if there was nothing huge or concerning about a statement like that. About trusting another human being so completely.
Lane didn’t even trust herself.
But, instead of pondering that any deeper, she smiled a little wider. “Are you going to say yes?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she was enjoying the conversation.
“I might make him suffer a little bit,” Rebecca said, a smile playing with the edges of her mouth. “But there’s no one else for me. He knows that. And I think... I think there’s no one else for him. It’s kind of an amazing feeling. To find the person that just fits with you. I didn’t think that person existed for me.”
Cassie was smiling and nodding in a knowing fashion.
Lane shared a glance with Alison. She knew their thoughts on the subject of romance were similar. Although Lane had never known Alison to date at all.
Ever since her marriage had ended in divorce, her abusive husband driven out of town, Alison had sworn off the male species.
Lane couldn’t really blame her. She had certainly suffered her own brand of pain at the hands of a man. But it wasn’t like what Alison had been through. Lane couldn’t even imagine. To love someone, to marry them and to have them betray you like that. To have them turn into this whole different monster.
It was nice that Rebecca had someone now. It was nice that Cassie had someone. But sometimes Lane wondered if she and Alison had just been wounded too deeply to ever take that kind of chance again.
Oh, Lane dated. Casually. She liked men. But she liked them in their own space, and not in hers. She liked them to fill a manageable portion of her life. To fulfill a physical need and that vague emotional craving for romance that she sometimes got, particularly around Valentine’s Day or the holidays.
Someone to go to parties with. Someone to go out to dinner with. Someone who might bring her flowers and tell her she was pretty. To kiss her and make her feel good.
She’d had boyfriends since leaving Massachusetts. Some of them had even lasted quite a while. But they had never been serious. Not in the sense of her imagining they would become anything long-term.
The very idea of a husband, of children, made her feel sick inside.
It was a future she couldn’t have.
A future she didn’t deserve.
Without permission, a vision of Cord McCaffrey and his family flitted in front of her mind’s eye. His beautiful wife, his two darling children.
Her throat tightened, bile rising in it. Why did it hurt so much? Why did it still hurt so damn much?
Or rather, why did it hurt again after so many years of lying dormant? It was his fault. For being in the public eye like this. For bringing it all up again.
“Well,” Alison said, too brightly. Lane figured she had been traveling down her own dark road just then. “Congratulations, Rebecca. I can’t wait for you to officially accept his proposal.”
“Me either,” Rebecca said. “I would never have thought... Well, I would never have thought that I would get married. Not in a million years. And I really never thought that I would marry him. For obvious reasons.”
The reasons being that Gage had been responsible for a terrible accident that Rebecca had been in when she was a child.
Lane didn’t possess that kind of capacity for forgiveness. But she had to admit that theirs was a rare case. Where both of them had been lost in the past, continually punishing themselves for something neither of them was truly at fault for. So in the end it was better they had let it go.
Lane just couldn’t quite fathom how they had let it go with each other.
More power to Rebecca, though.
Nothing had proven more clearly to Lane that she still had an iron grip on the past than Cord’s recent resurgence.
“Crap,” Alison said suddenly. “I was going to bring a couple trays of chocolate croissants that I had left over in the bakery. Can someone help me carry them?” Alison was looking meaningfully at Lane.
“Sure,” Lane said.
“Be right back,” Alison said, leading the way out of the small coffee shop.
It was dark outside, and the streetlamps—made to look like old-fashioned gas lamps—were lit, casting a bright orange glow on the sidewalk. Most of the cars were gone, and the ones that were parked up against the curb likely belonged to people who had walked down the street to Beaches, Copper Ridge’s fanciest restaurant.
Or they had all done a park and ride to Ace’s bar or brewery.
Lane tugged on her sweater, pulling it closer to her skin. Once the sun sank into the ocean, nights were cold and invariably a bit damp when the mist rolled in off the sea. “I thought you might need a little bit of reprieve from those who are one half of a happy couple,” Alison said, her tone dry.
“Is it that obvious?” Lane asked, keeping step with her friend, then pausing while Alison unlocked the door to the bakery.
“Not really. I just assumed you might feel like I did. Come on in.” Lane walked in behind Alison, the room cast in darkness, the tables and chairs inky shadows on the light wood floor. The bakery case was empty, as were all the display cases that were normally full to the brim of pastries and breads.
“I really do have a tray of croissants,” Alison said, setting her keys on the table before heading into the back. Lane lingered in the main dining area for a while, and then followed her friend.
“Admittedly I’m a little bit of a relationship Scrooge,” Lane said, leaning against the kitchen door.
“I’m a lot of one,” Alison returned. “Here,” she said, handing a wide bakery tray laden with croissants to Lane. Then she turned back into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later holding her own. “See, I’m not a liar. I just have a convenient memory.”
They both walked back out into the dining room and Alison set the tray down for a moment so that she could grab her keys.
“Do you think you’re ever going to date again?”