I understood why Simone felt that way but it took me aback. I rinsed out the pan and cleaned it as I spoke. "Never's a pretty long time, and you're still young, Simone."

"Not that young," she sighed, reaching for a dishtowel. "I'm still coming to grips with that."

"Preachin' to the choir," I mumbled, handing her the griddle and watching her dry it off. "Never is just sort of an extreme word, I guess."

"I have extreme feelings on the matter," Simone pointed out, but she smiled. "Please don't worry; I'm enjoying my liberty. So . . . we start again?"

I took the griddle and headed back to the oven. "We start again," I agreed.

The toast turned out perfectly and we ate, keeping the conversation light as we did. Simone seemed thoughtful, shooting me cautious looks before finally clearing her throat. "Dwayne," she murmured, coming over from where she sat, slipping an arm around my shoulders. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I countered automatically.

"For everything," Simone went on. "For last night, and this morning, and breakfast. I'm so grateful for all of it."

Suddenly I didn't like where this conversation sounded like it was going. I sighed. "If there's a 'but' coming, I really don't want to hear it," I told her.

Simone's eyebrows went up, and she pursed her mouth. "Is that so?"

"It is. 'But' would mean you actually have regrets or second thoughts and I don't," I told her. "I do not have any issues whatsoever with what we've done and what we've become, Simone. And before you say anything else, give it some time," I added. "We've been through a lot in the last couple of hours. Might want to let it percolate a bit."

She ran her warm fingers along my cheekbone, holding my gaze. "You are very stubborn."

"So are you. Part of why we're good for each other."

That got a little nod. "True. All right, Dwayne, I'll . . . let it simmer. In the meantime however, I think we need to keep our . . . arrangement . . . between ourselves. For discretion's sake."

I agreed. "Yep. I'm not about to kiss and tell."

Simone wrinkled her nose at me. "And my homework?"

"Read up on bread," I told her. "We're going to make baguettes next Saturday."

Simone bounced up and down. "Oh! I always wanted to make bread!"

Never thought I'd see her do that but it was worth looking at, especially since she wasn't wearing a bra. She caught my smirk and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to scowl but not quite making it. Simone blew a dark curl out of her eyes and added, "Stop staring; you've seen them before."

"Not in action," I teased, and got an arm swat for that.

-oo0oo—

The following week I had court appearances and paperwork followed by three cases that didn't involve any bodies. On the flip side there had been a bus collision in mid-city with lots of fatalities that kept Loretta and Simone pretty busy. I knew better than to stop by even though I wanted to, and all my time waiting to be called to testify meant I was alone with my thoughts most of the week.

Had some fantastic memories, and I spent time with those, but I also had some issues I needed to unknot, as my mother would have said. Namely how I felt about Simone, because it was definitely complicated. A whole lot stronger than 'like' that was for damned certain. We had an attraction; an understanding; a bond. If I'd been younger I would have called it love but I'd seen too many situations were that word had been misused and inaccurate.

And I was pretty sure if I said it to her, she'd panic.

I didn't want her to panic. I didn't want Simone to pull away just as we were becoming close, no. If it took cooking lessons to draw her in, I'd keep them up, and maybe convince her we could see each other outside of that. Build on what we had so to speak.

While I was chewing all this over, I got a call from Laurel. Mostly it was to thank me for straightening out the credit card issue, and I appreciated being appreciated for that. We talked for a while and out of the blue my daughter asked if I'd started dating yet.

"Kind of a personal question, isn't it?" I managed, mostly because I wondered if I'd been busted.

"That sounds like a yes to me," Laurel chirped. "I thought so. Did the website work?"

"No, I took that down and don't ever want to see it go back up, thank you," I replied a little testily. "I don't need anyone to advertise my charms on an internet billboard."

"Dad!" Laurel laughed and it felt good to hear it. "That's the point! You've got tons of charms and . . . well . . . mom's moved on. You should too. You're too great a guy to be alone, you know?"

"Laurel, I'm fine. You're the one who should be out there dating and falling in love. Gettin' married and having babies—not now of course but eventually," I added with a wince.

"I do not have time for that right now," my daughter assured me. "You'll have babies before I do, Dad."

"Sorry, my child-rearing days are through," I told Laurel, amused at the very idea. "You broke me with your Barbie tea parties and boy bands and softball games."

She laughed. "That's why I know you're still good for it; I trained you well."

We chatted a bit more and said goodbye; I stared at the phone for a moment, wondering how the conversation had wandered into such bizarre territory. Laurel had never been shy about wanting a brother or sister but somehow Linda and I never seemed to agree on it at the same time and now it was too late. I regretted that a bit; having brothers and sisters myself I knew siblings were good thing and I was sorry Laurel never had that experience.

Then later in the day when I picked up the mail and found the stiff white envelope with the calligraphy, I understood the conversation a little better.

-oo00oo—

"So you plan on going?" Loretta prodded me. We were at one of the tables in the early Friday afternoon, sharing beers and enjoying the sunshine coming through the bar. It wasn't open yet of course but would be in a few hours.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's her wedding. I can't very well say no, now can I?"

Loretta gave a little murmur. I took a sip of my beer and added, "I mean I could but Laurel will be there and a lot of our friends and it's only right to show up. Tim seems like a good man and if he plans on making Linda happy, so be it, right?"

"True," Loretta agreed. She shot me a sidelong glance. "So who are you taking?"

"Taking?"

"Your plus one," Loretta pointed out. "I'm sure Linda's invitation included anyone you wanted to bring."

"I hadn't planned on taking anyone," I admitted. "Unless you want to go."

"Wish I could but I'm off to an overnight science camp with CJ," Loretta told me. "We've had it on the calendar for weeks."

She said nothing.

I said nothing.

But it was the WAY Loretta said nothing that finally made me grumble. "No. Don't even think it."

"I can think whatever I want, Dwayne. You just don't want me to suggest it," she grinned.

"I don't want you to suggest it because it would make matters . . . awkward," I sighed. "You know as well as I do that if I show up with her at Linda's wedding people are going to make assumptions. The smart thing would be to go by myself and get on with it."

"That's one option," Loretta agreed. "But let me say this: if you show up by yourself, you're going to be . . . pitied, Dwayne. People know you're her ex, and showing up alone makes it look like you're still pining for her."

"I'm not," I protested. Oh I might have a pang now and again; nobody gets out of that many years of a marriage without them, but in all honesty I was pretty resigned to the divorce. Linda had always been upfront about the reasons and it was the right call, ultimately.

Loretta laid a hand on my arm. "I know that, and you know that. But I also know it will be a long afternoon and facing it by yourself will be hard. Why not take a friend? And remember," she added, "Neither of you have to answer any questions you don't want to. That alone will drive some of them crazy you know."

Well she'd planted the idea but good, and frankly it appealed to me in a slightly evil way. I'm not saying that Linda invited me out of pity; we still had a friendly relationship. But I'm sure she expected me come alone, and it sure would feel good to debunk that assumption.

And it would be a first step in seeing Simone outside of Saturday lessons. So With that in mind, I made it a point to ask just as we measured out the flour.

-oo00oo-

"A wedding?" Simone gave me a sharp look. "Who is getting married?"

"Linda, my ex," I replied, eyeing the dissolved yeast and adding a teaspoon of salt to the watery mix. "Next Saturday in fact, over at Saint Mary's Assumption on Constance Street."

"And you're going?" Simone sounded surprised.

I gave a shrug. "Laurel will be there and I don't want to disappoint her. Besides, Linda and I get along. I'm happy for her."

Simone watched me add the water and begin stirring the dough, putting a little muscle into it as it thickened up. "You're a far more gracious person than I would be," she finally said. "But surely there's someone else . . . Loretta perhaps?"

"She's got a previous engagement that weekend," I grunted, scooping out the dough and slamming it onto the counter with a little more force than necessary. "And I know it's asking a lot, but I really don't want to go alone . . ."

That's part of what I adored about Simone. She caught on quick. "Ohh, yes. That . . . would not be much fun."

"Nope," I motioned her closer. "All right, you push with the heels of your hands in a firm sorta shove. Do it twice and then give it a quarter turn, like this."

We managed to get the dough kneaded, and I set it to rise when Simone shyly put her arms around me in a hug. Gently I hugged her back, savoring this simple affection. "You okay?"

"Long week," Simone admitted, pressing her head against my chest. "Too many bodies to deal with and . . . I missed you."

"Missed you too, but . . . I'm here right now," I pointed out quietly, kissing her temple. "Dough needs to rise for about ninety minutes."

"Oh good," Simone smiled up at me. "Enough time for a nap."

I stared at her. "A nap?"

She let her hands slip down and grabbed my ass, squeezing it. "A nap with benefits."

"Benefits," I murmured, my own hands slipping up under the back of her shirt for her brassiere hooks. "That's my sort of nap."