Why was she being so defensive? There was no reason to be. Henry Birch was a nice guy. Ivy’s brother. Decent guy. Honest guy. Sometimes a little too honest, if she dared say so, but still an all-around good guy. So what if he once was Adam’s closest friend and best man in her wedding? That was years ago. He hadn’t even really kept in touch…
But something told her that her trepidation had something to do with more than the fact that Henry and Adam were as close as brothers growing up—it was that Henry looked… different. Better. Downright… handsome.
“I’m sorry about you and Adam,” Henry said as soon as she sat down at the table. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, his sky-blue eyes locking hers. Had she never noticed those eyes?
She held his stare for a moment, dismissing the flutter that zipped through her stomach, and waved off his concern with a simple shrug. “It’s been almost a year.”
She experienced a little jolt at the realization. A year… already? It was an alarming thought. Nine months had somehow passed since that terrible Christmas week when she’d finally voiced her suspicions about the affair. Nine months was all it had taken for Adam to start over, to put everything they’d shared permanently in his past, while she was still living in the home they had chosen together, raising their only daughter, stuck in the remnants of their life together. It was so unfair. So terribly unfair. It should have been her moving on first—her finding triumph in the wake of his betrayal, her finding happiness again…
Across the table, Henry was watching her carefully, one brow lifted in question, his lips pulled into a frown. Oh, there was that flutter again! Jane took a quick sip of her coffee to steady herself. What was wrong with her? So he was a good-looking guy. He’d always been a good-looking guy. He’d always been nice—quiet and sensitive. But he was also Adam’s best friend. And besides, he was just visiting Ivy, so really, there was no point in any of this. He was a good-looking man and that was the sum of it. And clearly her sisters were right: She needed to get out more. But oh, the thought of it…
“I’m fine,” she assured Henry, forcing a smile. And she was. She was just wonderful, crawling into an empty bed every night, knowing the only men who ever hugged her anymore were her sisters’ significant others, a fact that was, she knew, painfully pathetic. And she was perfectly happy eating cheese right from the block while standing in her kitchen on the nights her daughter wasn’t with her. Why dirty a dish? She could think of nothing more depressing than cooking dinner for just herself, and oh, wasn’t it a thrill to take that Snickers from the freezer, tear open the wrapper, grab a glass of wine, and know that no one could stop her? So really, there was nothing for any of them to worry about. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old single mother whose cheating husband had impregnated his mistress. Worse things had happened, surely. “I’m just fine,” she said again.
She took another sip from her mug, glancing at him over the rim. From the pinch between his brow, he didn’t look convinced. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, the burning question that made her heart speed up and her palms sweat: Have you talked to him? But she forced herself to refrain. She didn’t want to know the details, didn’t want to hear about the wedding or the baby, if they knew the gender, any of it. It made it all too real. Made the life she’d valued feel too replaceable. Disposable, really.
She glanced down and blinked into her mug. Don’t cry.
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I have firsthand experience in failed marriages.” Henry took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the saucer, his smile grim.
Jane frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have sent a card.”
Henry arched an eyebrow, but his mouth twitched playfully. “A card?”
Jane shifted in her seat, feeling uneasy under the weight of that stare. “That’s right.”
He leaned into his elbows on the table, his thick brows furrowing, but there was a gleam in his sharp blue eyes that only two people who’d been through a hellish experience could share. “Did people send you cards when you and Adam got divorced?”
“Well, no…” Instead they’d sent casseroles. Desserts. Fudge brownies and cobblers. And she hated cobbler. It seemed every woman over the age of fifty had a desire to plump her up or set her up with their nephew, and every woman under thirty-five could only gape, no doubt concerned that a wandering eye was somehow contagious. Don’t worry, she wanted to call out, just because it happened to me doesn’t mean it will happen to you! And it didn’t. They were the lucky ones. But then, they hadn’t stupidly married their high school sweetheart at the ripe age of nineteen, either.
“I appreciate the concern, but it’s better this way. I’m not exactly marriage material.” Henry leaned back in his chair and held up a hand. He brought it down to his mug, clutching it by the handle, and Jane allowed herself a glance at his hand. Sure enough, no ring. His fingers were strong and manly, so capable looking. She idly wondered how they might feel running over her bare skin… She took a quick sip of her coffee. This was getting ridiculous!
“Caroline and I were over before it began,” Henry said. “We never even made it to our second anniversary.”
“Good thing you didn’t have children,” Jane noted. “It’s easier that way.”
Henry’s frown deepened, and Jane wondered if she’d hit a nerve. “Yeah. Good thing.”
He tore the muffin apart and offered her half. Jane shook her head, but her heart began to race when she glanced into his eyes, catching a hint of amusement. “At least a bite,” he said, bringing a small piece close to her mouth. His fingers scanned her lips, and she twitched on reflex. Panicked, she brought her mug to her mouth and downed the rest of her coffee. Her stomach was flipping and twisting, and being fed by a handsome man, in the window of the Annex, where all of Briar Creek would see, was… not an option, no matter how tempting. People would talk, and it would get back to Adam, and he would learn it had been Henry, and no good would come from that. The last thing she needed was to look like she was trying to make her ex-husband jealous.
“Have you met anyone else?” Jane tipped her head, wondering why a hard knot had just formed in her abdomen. It was a natural follow-up question, and besides, she was genuinely curious how long was customary to move on after a marriage ended. Really, she told herself, that’s all it was.
Henry shook his head. “Nah. No time. My works keep me bouncing from one place to another.”
“Sounds amazing.” Jane smiled. She’d only been out of Vermont twice in her life—once for her honeymoon in Florida and the other time to visit Grace when she was living in New York. She’d had the opportunity to leave a long time ago, but then Henry knew that already.
Henry shrugged again. “I like it. Can’t say Caroline did, though.”
He looked down at his mug, growing quiet, and Jane instantly regretted broaching the topic. She hated when people asked her anything about the divorce, or even how she was doing. Was there anything worse than being stopped in the supermarket by a gentle hand on her arm and kind eyes accompanying the “How are you holding up, dear?” when all she wanted to do was buy a gallon of milk?
“I suppose you’ve heard that Adam is getting remarried?” There, it was out. She may as well be the one to bring it up. From the startled look in Henry’s expression, she realized he hadn’t known, and she felt her earlier wariness begin to fade.
“Already?” Henry looked downright bewildered, and something about that made Jane laugh.
“It is soon, isn’t it?” She leaned across the table, happy for the chance to confide the thoughts that were leaving her sleepless and exhausted. Enjoying the moment, she reached across the table and broke of a piece of the muffin Henry had been so willing to share. Oh, it was good. Anna certainly didn’t disappoint. But then, her sisters never did.
“Very!” Henry shuddered, then flashed her a wicked grin that made her stomach roll over. “But then, I’m not eager to repeat the process.”
She dismissed the twinge of disappointment she felt and focused instead on his lingering smile. She’d forgotten about that hint of a dimple on his left cheek. Caroline, whoever she was, was probably mighty disappointed when things didn’t work out with Henry. It was hard enough to lose a husband, but to lose a quiet, sensitive, funny guy like him? Jane couldn’t imagine, and luckily, she wouldn’t have to. Henry wasn’t looking to get married, and since when had she started looking at Henry like this in the first place?
She shifted in her chair and forced her attention back to more sobering thoughts.
“It doesn’t stop there, actually,” Jane admitted, and she was rewarded by Henry eagerly leaning into the table, until she caught a waft of his musky scent. “They’re having a baby.”
Henry frowned at this and pulled back in his chair. “Aw, Jane. That can’t be easy.”
“No.” Jane blinked quickly, feeling the familiar prickle at the back of her eyes. She cursed to herself, wishing she hadn’t brought it up. But Henry had always been such a good listener…
He’s a writer, she told herself firmly, thinking of her sister Grace. Writers were always good listeners. They observed life. They recorded it. They embraced it. It was nothing more than that.
And she was just a lonely divorcée, and before that she’d been a lonely wife, with a husband who couldn’t be bothered to ask about how she spent her time when he wasn’t around, much less how she was feeling.
Across the table, Henry was still frowning at her, and she hated the concern that shadowed his clear blue eyes, but worse, the lack of surprise.
“I’m sorry, Jane. Adam and I haven’t kept in touch much over the years. I liked your family Christmas cards, though.”
She spared a wry grin. “I suppose you received last year’s?”
“In March, when I got back from Asia, but yes. Why?”
“Most people received them around the same day they learned he had moved in with his mistress. A few people even asked me if they should return the card!”
Henry’s expression darkened. “People in this town talk too much.”
Jane studied him as he rubbed the back of his neck, then turned back to the window. His jaw was set, and a day’s worth of stubble had collected over it. It made a soft sound when he ran his hand over his chin.
“Well, small-town life does have some drawbacks,” Jane agreed vaguely, deciding against asking about his mother. Ivy rarely spoke of Mrs. Birch, even after her death this summer, and Henry had never wanted to, either. There had been talk, gossip when Jane was younger, about Mrs. Birch’s reputation, but Jane had tried not to pay any attention. She could sense the way it affected Henry, the way he could seem so withdrawn at times, the way he seemed to enjoy getting out and joining her and Adam for a pizza, even if he didn’t talk much, just listened instead.
She understood not wanting to talk about things that hurt. Now, more than ever.
Henry took another sip from his mug. “Sure does.”
“Well,” Jane sighed. “I should probably get back to work.” She gave him a small smile and stood, feeling a little sad that their conversation had been so short.
“I’ll see you again,” Henry said, his voice clear and firm, as if the topic wasn’t open for discussion.
Jane felt herself waver, thinking of Adam, of how happy he’d be to see Henry again, how the two would fall back into old patterns, and the likelihood of Henry talking to her without feeling awkward or torn would be unlikely.
“You know where to find me,” she said simply.
She walked back around the counter, started a new pot of coffee, and glanced at the clock. In two hours, school would be out, and life would get back to normal. Sophie would be tired, no doubt in need of a snack, then there would be the kindergarten ballet class, and Tiny Tappers for Sophie while she taught the ten-year-old group, then home to make dinner, get to bed, and prepare for tomorrow. That was her life. Full, busy, and it would be enough.
And the man sitting over at the near window, staring at the rain collecting on the pavement instead of the laptop he’d just set up in front of him? He was part of her life with Adam. And that life was long gone.
“Jane, do you have a moment?”
Jane glanced up to see Rosemary Hastings, or Madame Hastings as she liked to be called at the studio, standing in the doorway of studio 1. Her graying hair was tied back in a low bun, and a long white chiffon dance skirt was tied at the waist of her long-sleeved black leotard.
“Of course.” Jane smiled brightly as the last of her five-year-olds trailed from the classroom, leaving just Sophie behind. “Change into your tap shoes, honey. Class starts in fifteen minutes. When that’s over, we’ll go home and have dinner.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Jane.” Rosemary came into the room and closed the glass door behind her. “There isn’t going to be a tap class today.”
Jane looked up from helping Sophie with her shoes. “Oh no? Are you feeling sick?”
“There isn’t going to be a Tiny Tappers class this session, Jane. I’ve had to cancel it.”
“Cancel it? But why?” She had depended on Sophie taking that class while she taught Ballet Three. Surely Rosemary knew that.
“Low enrollment.” Rosemary raised her palms. “Only four children were signed up for the class.”
“I only have three girls in my four forty-five today.” Jane frowned, realizing where this conversation was headed.
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to offer that class either this session, Jane. I’m offering it with Ballet Four instead. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to do other than combine a few classes. The art school down the road needs extra studio space, and I’m considering entering into a schedule with them a few days a week.”
Jane looked around the studio, from the gleaming oak floors, to the walls of mirrors, to the skylights that let in natural light. “But… you don’t even let anyone walk in here with street shoes!”
Rosemary closed her eyes and shuddered. “I know, believe me I know. I’m getting older, though, and I’m on a fixed income. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve lived comfortably off what my late husband left me, but I’ve put three children through college with it, paid off my house, and used most of it toward investments around town, this place included. This business supports me; it’s not just a hobby.”
Jane nodded, knowing just how much money Rosemary had given to not just her children, but also her sister-in-law by marriage, Sharon Hastings, and her nephews Mark and Brett. Rosemary had been widowed twenty years ago, and while she lived well, she also lived generously. Too generously, it now seemed.
“Please don’t say anything. I’m sure this is just a temporary problem, and I don’t want my son worrying. Luke was given an inheritance—all my children were—but that is their money, not mine. I want Luke to use his share toward his new life with Grace, toward their children.” She waggled her eyebrows at this, and Jane gave a watery smile.
“Maybe it will pick up soon. Kids are busy with the start of school,” she offered, even though the excuse sounded lame, even to her own ears.
“Maybe.” Rosemary didn’t seem to believe it either. “Whatever the reason, I don’t see much choice. I only wish I could have given you more notice.”
Jane chewed on her lip, thinking of the position this left her in and knowing she had no right to voice her complaint right now. This studio meant a great deal to Rosemary—it had gotten her through the loss of her husband—and Jane knew too well how important it was to have a purpose to help get through the rough patches. She looked over at Sophie, who was struggling to tie the bow on her tap shoes, and smiled.
“How many classes do you still need me for?” Jane hedged.
Rosemary winced. “Four?”
Jane tried to mask her shock. This essentially cut her income in half, and even with Adam’s child support there was already little left after she paid the mortgage and monthly bills, despite the strict budget she adhered to. There was hardly anything left over for little luxuries, and Christmas was only a few months away…
“Perhaps you could ask Grace if she needs more help at the bookstore,” Rosemary suggested eagerly. “Or maybe Anna needs someone at the restaurant? A hostess perhaps?”
Jane gave a brave smile, but her heart was beginning to pound. Working at the studio had been perfect for a single mother with a young child—Sophie could take lessons while she taught. Grace and Anna might be her sisters, but there was no way she could bring Sophie to work with her at either establishment. And the cost of childcare would wipe out anything she earned by the hour… Her mother was sometimes available to help, but more often than not, Kathleen was overbooked with her interior design business.
She supposed she could always sell the house and move in with her mother to save on bills. The old Victorian she’d grown up in was certainly big enough, but it wasn’t home anymore, and Sophie had experienced enough change in the past year already. Jane had poured so much of herself into decorating Sophie’s room, envisioning it even before Sophie was born. That was the room where she’d held her baby, rocked her to sleep, read her stories, and tucked her into bed each night. She couldn’t bear the thought of closing the door on it forever. So much had already been lost.
She squared her shoulders. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Jane tried to smile, but her tone was a bit tinny.
“Monday,” Rosemary corrected, her eyes kind as she set a hand on Jane’s wrist. “I’ve cancelled the Friday and Saturday classes.”
Jane struggled to recover from her error. “Oh. Sure. Monday.” She usually worked at the Annex on the weekends Sophie was with Adam anyway. Maybe she could ask for an extra shift to make up for the lost class time.
She remembered what Rosemary said about not worrying Luke and stopped herself. Grace was getting married in a matter of weeks. This was, Jane knew from firsthand experience, the happiest time in her life. She didn’t need to worry her sister now. She’d worried Grace enough already last year, dragging her back from New York and confiding in her about Adam and his little fling at the office.
Jane pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. She was getting a headache. She couldn’t think about this right now.
Sophie was staring at her when she opened her eyes again, a look of worry creasing her small face. Jane had worked so hard to hide her struggles from her daughter. No five-year-old should have to see their mother fall apart.
“Change of plans, Soph.” She smiled, bending down to undo the knot Sophie had formed with the black shoelaces. “We get to head home early tonight.”
“Yeah!” Sophie cried, and then paused. “But I love tap.”
“If only other little girls did,” Rosemary tutted from the edge of the room. “Tell me, Sophie, what do the kids in your class like to do after school?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie shrugged. “Watch TV?”
Jane heard Rosemary snort, and she had to smile. Leave it to Sophie to always take her away from her troubles, even for just a minute.
“Ready, honey?” Jane stood and shrugged Sophie’s ivory button-down sweater over her shoulders, then gripped the little girl’s hand tight. She had her daughter, and that’s what mattered. Focus on that, Jane.
“Jane, I’m here, if you need to talk more.” Rosemary looked pained as she watched them go. “And next session might be better. I… hope so, at least. The Nutcracker auditions are in two weeks, and I might need extra help with rehearsals…”
They both knew The Nutcracker was Rosemary’s show. She’d lie awake at nights choreographing it, then drink pots of coffee all through November and December to stay sharp. She obsessed over every detail, her biggest fear that the performance would get stale, too similar to last year’s, and ticket sales would plummet. By the third week in December, you could hear her humming the opening number under her breath, and her blue eyes would go wild if any of the girls dared to cough or even suggest they might have a cold coming on. The best Jane could hope for was to fill in for a few of her boss’s ordinary classes as the opening night approached.
“It’s okay, Rosemary. Besides, you’re probably right. Next session will be busy, and with the holidays coming anyway… it will be nice to have more free time. Don’t worry about me. I’ll land on my feet.”
And if she had anything to do with it, the dance studio would, too. It had to.