Slow Dancing on Price's Pier by Lisa Dale Page A

Jonathan’s, so I’ve got a few extra hours to myself these days.” Thea closed her eyes as a hot, gentle breeze made her hair stick to her skin. She thought of her daughter, of Jonathan’s words yesterday afternoon. Where were you? She hoped Irina was having a good time.
    â€œThat’s probably a good thing.”
    â€œIrina does seem to be getting more comfortable being away.”
    â€œI mean it’s a good thing for you both,” Dani said.
    Thea’s best friend was no stranger to divorce. Thea had met her years ago—more years than she cared to count—not long after she married Jonathan. In that time, Dani’s children had gone from elementary schoolers to teens who gave their hard-nosed mom a run for her money. With dark hair cut severely short, Dani fought hard for her family even when her ex-husband stopped paying child support. She’d gone back to school, went to the police academy, and ultimately earned a position with the city. But it hadn’t been easy. Thea admired her determination and grit.
    On the other side of the table, Claudine, Rochelle, and Lettie had been having a conversation of their own, and when their laugher crested in a wave that rolled out over the green countryside, Dani butted in.
    â€œHey now. What’s going on over there?” she asked.
    Claudine, cross-legged in her chair, filled them in. “Lettie won’t say her new man is her boyfriend.”
    â€œWomen my age don’t have boyfriends,” Lettie said. Despite the heat, she’d draped a light, lacy scarf around her shoulders. “He’s just a friend.”
    â€œYeah. And I’m Joan of Arc,” Claudine said.
    Lettie pulled herself up straight with all the bearing of a duchess. “And should we call that young thing you’ve been hanging around with your boyfriend ?”
    â€œWhat young thing ?” Rochelle asked, her ponytail bobbing. “You didn’t tell us about a young thing .”
    Claudine laughed. “He’s not that young. He’s nineteen.”
    Thea sat up a little, and the backs of her legs stuck to her chair. “You’re dating a nineteen–year-old? He’s—what—seven years younger than you?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say I’m dating him. More like—” Claudine pulled a cigarette from her purse. “What do you call it? Tutoring .”
    Thea laughed. “That’s not a boyfriend . That’s a boy toy .”
    Claudine coaxed a flame from her lighter, then puffed on her cigarette until it was a deep orange blister against the dusk. “What about you?”
    â€œMe?” Thea asked.
    â€œDon’t you have a backup plan? You know—a man to fall on.”
    â€œYou mean, ‘fall back on,’ ” Rochelle said.
    â€œOh, no,” Thea said. “No man.”
    Claudine’s breath was gray with smoke. “Was Jonathan the only man you’ve ever slept with?”
    â€œWell, I . . .”
    â€œYou don’t have to answer that.” Rochelle smacked Claudine’s arm. “And you shouldn’t smoke .”
    Thea reached for a sip of lemonade, not really afraid of telling the truth but not sure of how to explain it either.
    â€œSo, let me understand.” Claudine slouched in her chair, something catlike in her long fingers and curling spine. “You married your high school sweetheart. You took over your parents’ café, where you’d been working since you’d learned to talk. And you inherited your house from your parents—all before you were twenty years old.”
    â€œNot all of us want to be globetrotters,” Lettie said. “I’ve known Thea since she was a baby. And she’s had a very exciting life. More exciting than she wanted, I’d bet.”
    â€œThank you, Lettie,” Thea said, and she hoped her friend, who had been a part of her life for longer than she could remember, who had seen