“Lucky him,” I say with more than a hint of bitterness. After all, Jordan isn’t the one who had to move out of his house or deal with all the stares. Even though I’m sure people gossip about him, too, Margie is the one taking the brunt of things.

  Either Noah doesn’t catch my tone, or he agrees with me. Whichever it is, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he asks, “Want to have supper with me tonight?” His hands are in his pants pockets and he’s doing his best to look nonchalant.

  “Tonight?” I ask like I have seven other offers on the table that I’m considering.

  “We could grab a pizza or something.”

  I should say no but I don’t want to. Even though I know nothing can come of it, I like spending time with Noah. I’m just afraid we’ll get into trouble if we go alone. “Maybe we could ask Margie and Jordan to join us.”

  “Why?” Noah blows his whistle and calls a foul on one of the guys.

  As the girls position themselves around the free throw lane, I answer, “To help them get on the same page.”

  “They’ve got to do that on their own, Allie. We’re capped out on our ability to help them in that area.”

  “I guess …”

  “So, I’ll pick you up at seven?” he asks.

  Picking me up instead of going straight from practice makes this feel like more a date than a friendly supper. But I don’t complain. Instead, I tell him, “Sure.”

  My eyes are on Noah for the rest of training. He doesn’t seem nervous about the evening ahead, so maybe I’m making too much out of this. Maybe he really is just asking me out as a friend.

  After practice ends, Margie approaches Jordan. He’s been side-eying her during the entire scrimmage and it’s obvious he’s not pleased.

  Even though I can’t hear what’s being said, their body language speaks volumes. Margie’s posture is squared off like a dock worker heading out to the picket line. Not only does she look determined, she looks dangerous. Meanwhile, Jordan, who stands several inches above his ex, looks sheepish and uncomfortable. More words are exchanged before Margie turns around and marches straight out of the gym. Uh-oh.

  Catching up to her, I ask, “Did you tell him about the doctor’s appointment?”

  “Oh, I told him.” She starts to pace back and forth aggressively. Three strides in one direction and then three back. I stop her on her fourth loop.

  “And?”

  “He says he has a test to study for during lunch that day.”

  “Can’t he study over the weekend or, say, Monday night?” I want to know. Anger is bubbling up inside of me.

  “Apparently he’s going to be too busy. He’s going to look at colleges with his parents this weekend.”

  I wonder if that means Jordan’s parents are coming around to the idea of helping the kids out in some way. Putting my arm around Margie, I tell her, “I’m sorry. I really am. I know this doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Jordan still waltzes around school like nothing big is happening in his life and I’m … I’m …” she hiccups loudly before saying, “thinking about changing my name to Hester and sewing a scarlet letter on all of my clothes.”

  I wrap my arms around Margie and hold onto her for a minute. Then I tell her, “I’m going out for dinner tonight. Why don’t you ask Leah and Decan if they want to have supper with you at my place. I’ll order a pizza for you.”

  She sniffles. “I’d really like that, thank you. I miss them so much.”

  “I know you do, honey. Life is strange for you right now. Have you talked to your parents at all?” I know she hasn’t when I’ve been around, but she goes for a walk every night. I figure she might do it then.

  “No.” Stepping out of my embrace, she tells me, “I know where they stand. Plus, the ball is in their court. They are the parents, after all.”

  I wish there were something I could do to help Margie mend her relationship with her mom and dad. But she’s right, future contact is really up to them. “Do you want to go back into the gym and ask Leah and Decan about tonight?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll text them. I don’t want to run into Jordan again. I’m afraid I might beat him up.”

  Once we’re in the car, Margie texts her siblings. They’re both going to postpone previous plans to come over, but they’re not going to tell their parents. I cannot imagine the amount of tension in their house right now.

  Once we get into the car, I put on my autumn playlist for background noise, so Allie doesn’t feel like she has to say anything. As I turn onto Main Street, I look for my usual parking space. I nearly run off the road as I pass Happy Snaps. What is wrong with my parents? I can’t believe they’ve given Finley permission to use another picture of them. And this time it’s even racier than the last.

  I hurry to park, before telling Margie, “Go on up. I have a quick stop to make.”

  As soon as she enters the building, I run back to Happy Snaps. Chimes ring as I walk through the door, and a disembodied voice calls, “I’m sorry, I thought I locked up. We’re closed.”

  “Finley, it’s me, Allie!” I call back.

  When she comes out of the backroom, she’s not alone. My parents are with her. My mouth hangs wide open when I see what they’re wearing. My dad is shirtless with what appears to be a thick layer of baby oil spread across his bare skin. Meanwhile, my mom is in a dress that looks like she’s some kind of bar wench from a past era.

  Finley greets, “Allie, hey! How are you? I’ve been meaning to call and set up another coffee, but it’s been a crazy week.”

  “I can see that.” Gesturing between my mom and dad, I demand, “What’s going on here?”

  “Allie,” my mom says while my dad tries to hide behind her like he’s been caught doing something untoward. Which—if you ask me—he has.

  “Mom.”

  “Dad and I are starting a new project,” she explains.

  “Porn for senior citizens?” I want to know.

  “We’re not naked!” my dad shouts, still hiding behind my mother.

  “What’s your new project called?”

  Finley fields that question. “I’ve started offering simulated romance novel covers. Isn’t that cool?”

  I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “No.” Gesticulating wildly between my parents, I declare, “These are upstanding members of the community! My mother is in charge of the Christmas Bazaar at the church, for Pete’s sake.”

  “What does one thing have to do with the other?” my mom wants to know.

  “That new picture of you two out front sends a completely different message of what you two are about,” I tell her. “You look like a couple of swingers or something.”

  “Now listen here, Allie.” My dad finally gathers the courage to step out from behind my mom. “Your mother and I have been happily married for thirty-five years. We are not swingers!”

  “Although,” my mom feels the need to add, “we have discussed …”

  “Stop right there!” I shout. Nothing good can come from hearing whatever she’s about to share. Worst case scenario, I spontaneously combust. Best case? I drop dead from the shock.

  Just when I think this situation couldn’t possibly get any more awkward, the bell over the door rings again and Margie walks in. “Margie, what are you doing here?”

  She looks from me toward the scantily clad fifty-somethings who call themselves my parents before answering, “I wanted to tell you that you had a delivery.” Why is that something she needed to follow me down the street to share? I would have seen whatever it was when I got home.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll be home soon.”

  “Who is this?” my mom wants to know.

  Crap. I knew I’d eventually have to tell my parents about Margie. I just didn’t see it happening like this.

  “Mom, Dad,” I say. “This is Margie Flynn. She’s staying with me for a while.”

  “Are you Nathan and Holly’s daughter?” my dad asks. Before she can answer, he says, “I play golf with Nathan.”

  “I am their daughter,” Margie replies.

  “Why are you staying with Allie?” my mom wants to know. “Aren’t you still in high school, dear?”

  Poor Margie looks like she, too, is about to expire on the spot. “I am, but my parents are kind of mad at me right now.”

  My mother feels the need to tell her, “That may be, but they’re still your parents. You belong at home.”

  “I’m pregnant,” Margie tells them. “They don’t approve, and they don’t want anything to do with me or my baby.”

  My mother is completely unaware that the whole world isn’t interested in her opinion, so she demands, “How could they approve? You’re just a child!”

  “This is none of your business, Mom,” I tell her. “You need to stay out of it.”

  “Not my business?” Her hand flies over her chest so dramatically, you’d think she was starring in an old silent film. “You are my business.”

  “I’m an adult,” I tell her firmly.

  “You are still my child.” Her posture is one of righteous indignation.

  This whole scene is so utterly ridiculous I almost start laughing. Instead, I turn to Finley and ask, “Do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow?”

  “I’d love that!” She claps her hands together enthusiastically.

  “I want to have coffee tomorrow,” my mom says. “I want to find out what in the world is going on with you!”

  “I’ll text you, Mom,” I tell her. “Maybe we can get together for Sunday dinner.” I point at her while making a zigzag pattern through the air. “But you’ll have to wear clothes.”

  “Don’t be rude,” she replies before remembering there’s a young girl in the room. Pulling the neckline of her dress up, she tells Margie, “You should join us on Sunday, dear. We’d like to hear more about why you’re staying with our daughter.”

  I’m about to save Margie by declining for her, but before I can, she responds, “I’d like that.”

  She would? Why? But I don’t ask. Instead, I shoo her out the door while telling Finley, “I’ll text you in the morning.”

  Then I look at my parents and beg, “Please stop doing this. Please.”

  The looks on their faces say it all. They are not going to stop. My only hope is that they will at least stop allowing Finley to display their pictures. In fact, I’m going to talk to my new friend about that tomorrow.

  Meanwhile, Margie and I walk back to my apartment quietly. Once we’re in my kitchen, I ask, “Where’s the delivery?”

  She points to a large vase of flowers sitting on the coffee table in the living room. “They were outside the front door, so someone had to bring them up.”

  I’m guessing it was Faith or Teddy. Walking over to the gorgeous autumn display of dahlias and mums, I retrieve a small envelope out of the arrangement. No one has sent me flowers in a very long time, so I can’t imagine who would be doing so now.

  Pulling out the card, I read:

  Allie,

  Thinking of you today on what would have been our seventh wedding anniversary. I’m very sorry about the way our marriage ended.

  Love Always,

  Brett

  I rip the card in two, and then two again before opening the window and throwing the remnants into the wind like hostile confetti. So many questions fly through my head. Questions like, how did I forget today would have been my anniversary? Why in the world would Brett remember and why did he want to commemorate it? And finally, how did he find me?

  It’s not too big of an assumption for him to guess I moved home to Elk Lake, but how did he know I lived above Rosemary’s? I haven’t even been here long enough to get my first electric bill.

  “Anything wrong?” Margie asks.

  I turn to find her standing behind me with her hands clasped together. There’s a look of deep concern on her face. “Nothing’s wrong,” I tell her.

  “Why did you rip up the card and throw it out the window then?”

  “The flowers are from my ex-husband,” I tell her. “Today is our wedding anniversary.”

  “Isn’t he remarried?”

  “Yes, he is. Which I suppose is why I ripped the card up. Today isn’t a day I celebrate anymore.”

  “Do you want me to throw the flowers away?” she asks as she hesitantly approaches them.

  I have sudden and surprising clarity. I’ve been so caught up trying to move on with my life that I didn’t realize how much I’ve already succeeded in doing so. While I will never feel kindly toward Brett, and there’s no part of me that loves him, I don’t hate him anymore. The memory of him has become nothing more than a dark cloud that is quickly dissipating.

  “Do you like the flowers?” I ask Margie.

  She’s reluctant to answer, but she eventually does. “I do.”

  “Then let’s keep them. It isn’t the flowers’ fault that Brett is such a moron.”

  “They won’t make you sad?” she asks while walking toward them like a beacon of hope.

  “They won’t,” I assure her. “I’m over Brett. I’m ready to move on.”

  There’s a twinkle in her eye as she asks, “With Coach Riley?”

  “Noah and I are just friends,” I assure her. “But I am ready to get back on track to making my main dream come true.” I tell her, “I’ve decided to look for an adoption agency and fill out paperwork to adopt a baby.”

  Margie’s mouth forms an “O” of surprise. “I’m so happy for you, Allie. I wish I’d waited to have a baby until I was ready.”

  “Maybe our kids will grow up together,” I tell her. “We can have playdates and raise them like cousins.”

  Poor Margie looks like she’s going to crumble to the floor in a boneless heap. “I love you, Allie. There is no way I could have gotten through all of this without you.”

  “I love you, too, Margie,” I tell her honestly. In such a short time, this girl has come to mean so much to me. And I know that no matter what, I will always be there for her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  NOAH

  I park in front of Allie’s apartment at exactly six fifty-eight, feeling as nervous as a schoolboy about to go out on his first date. Pushing the button on the intercom, I wait a full minute before I hear Margie’s voice through the speaker. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Coach Riley,” I tell her. I wonder what she must be thinking with me picking up Allie for supper.

  “Oh, hey, Coach.” She buzzes me up.

  I climb the stairs in record time and wait for the apartment door to open. When it does, I walk inside to find that Decan and Leah are there, as well. “Hey, you two.”

  “Coach,” Decan says. “We’re having supper with Margie tonight.”

  “Good for you,” I tell them. Then I ask, “Is Coach Rogers around?”

  Allie walks into the room looking absolutely beautiful. She’s changed clothes and is wearing dress pants and a burgundy sweater. Her dark hair hangs full and loose around her shoulders instead of in her standard ponytail. It looks so soft, it’s all I can do not to walk over to her and run my fingers through it.

  “Noah, hi. I didn’t realize it was so late,” she says. Smiling at the kids, she tells them, “I paid for the pizza; you just need to let the delivery guy in.”

  “Thank you, Allie,” Margie says with an almost worshipful expression.

  “Are you two going out on a date?” Leah wants to know.

  “What? No,” Allie tells her. “We’re having a coaching meeting.”

  “You look pretty nice to be having a meeting,” Decan tells her.

  “It’s fun to wear something other than my teaching clothes,” she tells him. And while I’m sure that’s true, I do hope that I’m at least part of the reason she looks so good.

  “What about me?” I ask the kids. Spokesmodeling my own attire of a fresh pair of jeans and a pullover, I inform them, “I changed too.”

  “You’re a regular stud, Coach,” Decan tells me.

  “Very nice,” Margie contributes.

  Their praise isn’t exactly what I’d call effusive, but it’s better than nothing. What makes the biggest impact is the look of appreciation on Allie’s face. “You look like you’re trying to impress someone,” she tells me.

  “It’s Friday night.” Then I tease, “You never know who we might see out there that I want to dazzle.” I accompany this statement with a little shimmy, which makes the kids laugh.

  Allie walks toward the front door while telling her guests, “I won’t be late.”

  “Leah and I have to leave at nine,” Decan replies. “That’ll give us each two hours with our friends so that we won’t be totally lying to our parents about where we’ve been.”

  “Do you need a ride?” Allie asks.

  “Decan is driving our mom’s car,” Leah answers. “He’ll drop me on his way.”

  With a wave, we leave the apartment. As soon as we’re outside, I tell Allie, “It’s nice that you’re letting Margie have Decan and Leah over. They must miss each other.”

  She smiles at me in such a way my heart skips like a perfectly flat rock frisbeed across Elk Lake. “It’s good for all of them to stay close. I know Margie really misses her siblings.”

  Once we’re down the stairs and into my car, I ask, “So, pizza or should we go somewhere nicer?”

  “What else do you have in mind?”

  “We could go to the country club.” Allie doesn’t answer right away which I take to mean she’s worried that will make this a real date. I quickly explain, “As friends.”

  “I do love their beet and goat cheese salad,” she responds.

  I take the next left which takes us in the direction of the club. We drive silently while Noah Kahn serenades us from the car’s speakers. It’s rare to find someone you can be quiet around without feeling the need to fill the space with chatter.

  Instead of pulling up to the valet, I park in the lot. It’s a beautiful night and I wouldn’t mind walking next to Allie. After getting out of the car, I go around to the passenger side and open the door for her. I offer her my hand to help her out.

  As soon as she gets out of the car, she makes a motion to reclaim her hand, but I just hold on more firmly. “We shouldn’t be holding hands,” she says. “That might send the wrong message to people.”