My Favorite Mistake. Stephanie Bond

should be okay.”

      “Great,” he said, his genial tone making it obvious that our conversation wasn’t affecting him at all. “And if you could recommend a place to stay while I’m there, I’d appreciate it.”

      “I’ll look into it,” I promised. “How can I reach you?”

      He recited a phone number, which I jotted down.

      “Although you never know who might pick up around here,” he warned with a laugh.

      On cue, I heard a shriek of childish laughter and the patter of little feet in the background.

      “If you leave a message and you don’t hear back from me within a few hours, just call again.”

      “Sure,” I said, my heart dragging. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

      “Okay. Listen, Denise…”

      My heartbeat picked up. “Yes?”

      “It’s great to hear your voice again. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years and…”

      And? I swallowed, waiting.

      “And…I’m glad to know you’re okay.”

      I closed my eyes before murmuring, “Same here.”

      We said goodbye and I disconnected the call on an exhale, feeling wobbly and acknowledging the sudden urge to eat a party-size bag of peanut M&M’s. I settled for a cup of nonfat, sugar-free vanilla yogurt with a little cocoa sprinkled over the top (not the same, no matter how much the weight-loss gurus try to convince you otherwise) and tucked myself into a chair with my legs beneath me.

      So I was going to see Redford again. I lay my head back on the chair and released a sigh that ended in a moan. Just speaking to him on the phone had left me feeling fuzzy, as if he had brushed his naked body against mine. How pathetic was I that the mere sound of his voice could rattle me after all this time? Especially when Redford had obviously found someone else to brush up against.

      I wasn’t naïve enough to think that Redford hadn’t taken other lovers after our annulment. But because our sexual relationship had been so radical and so…incomparable for me, deep down I guess I’d hoped it had been for him, too. That he hadn’t played the “kiss you all under” game with anyone else, or that no other woman had left teeth marks in his shoulder.

      I laughed at myself. I hadn’t really expected Redford to be pining for me, had I?

      I mindlessly spooned yogurt into my mouth, sucking on the spoon (which even Freud would have deemed too obvious for analysis), while my thoughts coiled into themselves in confusion. I was scraping the bottom of the container with an eye toward licking the foil lid when the phone rang again.

      My pulse jumped—maybe Redford had forgotten to tell me something. I idly wondered if he had kept my phone number and address somewhere, or if he’d simply looked me up through directory assistance. I padded to the bedroom where I’d left the handset and pushed the connect button. “Hello?”