Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber

to be told that one drink, even one sip, was a fantasy. For alcoholics like Bob and him, it never ended there. Jack had sat through enough meetings to know that. Lived it long enough to recognize the truth when he heard it. This was the lie so many alcoholics tried to believe: that they were strong enough to have one drink, just one, and then walk away. But that wasn’t how it worked for people like him.

      “You need a meeting to get your head on straight,” Bob said. He stood up to take his wallet out of his hip pocket, then pulled out a small booklet and unfolded it. “There’s one in Bremerton that starts in ten minutes. I’ll drive.”

      Jack nodded. They’d be late but that didn’t matter. A meeting was a meeting. He’d feel better after talking about this with other men and women who understood the addictive power of alcohol.

      “Let me say goodbye to Olivia.” Carefully opening the bedroom door a moment later, he paused, hesitant to wake her if she was asleep. Light spilled from the hallway into the bedroom.

      “Jack?” Olivia rose up on one elbow. “Is everything all right?”

      “It is now. Bob and I are going out for a while.”

      “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

      “Will you be okay by yourself?” he asked. “I can call Grace if you want.” She was the kind of friend to Olivia that Bob was to him. Any time of the day or night, Grace would be willing to help.

      Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine.”

      Walking into the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Olivia in his arms. As they clung to each other, he felt her tremble.

      “I need a meeting,” he whispered.

      “I know, Jack. Go.” She stroked the back of his head, her fingers light against his hair.

      It was the same way she touched him after they’d made love. The gesture brought emotion bubbling to the surface and Jack hid his face in her shoulder.

      “Wake me when you get back,” she whispered.

      “Okay.” He left her then, reluctantly.

      Bob was waiting for him by the front door. Jack grabbed a fleece jacket from the hall closet and together they headed into the cold. A sporadic rain had begun, matching his mood, darkening an already dark sky. When they reached the address, they hurried into a church basement that smelled of stale coffee and damp coats. Jack was quickly immersed in the familiar and comforting routine of the meeting; it was exactly what he’d needed, he told himself an hour later.

      During his first weeks of sobriety, he’d gone to thirty meetings in thirty days. He’d needed every one of those meetings. That was how he’d made it through the first month—one day at a time and on some days one minute at a time. Alcoholics Anonymous had given him a structure. And Bob had helped him at every step, listening, encouraging, cutting through the bull and self-pity. When his head was clear enough to listen, Bob reminded him that no one had poured the booze down his throat. No one had forced him to drink. He had to take responsibility for his own life, his own happiness.

      By the time he let himself into the house, it was two o’clock. He, Bob and a couple of other people from the meeting had gone out for coffee afterward and they’d talked for another hour. Jack felt almost sane again.

      He slipped off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet. Olivia had trained him well, he thought. Smiling, he started toward the bedroom. When he walked inside, he was surprised to see his wife sitting up in bed, a book lying open on her lap. She blinked at him, obviously a bit disoriented.

      “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in.”

      “I can tell.” Moving to the side of the bed, he kissed her. He’d meant it to be light and easy, but the kiss quickly turned into something more, something urgent.

      All at once, Olivia broke away from him. “Jack Griffin,” she cried. “What’s that I taste on you?”

      “Ah.”

      She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Cherry pie?”

      He grinned. “Could be.”

      “Jack!”

      “Hey, Miss Coconut-Cream-Pie-every-Wednesday-night. You’ve got no call to be criticizing me.”

      Her pretend outrage faded, and she set aside the book she’d been reading. “Do you feel better?”

      “Much,” he said.

      “Me, too.”

      Jack knew he was ready for whatever the future held. He could—and would—be the man his wife deserved.

      Thirty-Two

      Rachel checked her watch, then peered out the living-room window again. Bruce was already five minutes late, and she wondered if he even remembered that he’d agreed to drive her to the airport today. She’d asked him weeks ago—long before he’d kissed her … before the less-than-subtle shift in their relationship. They hadn’t talked since that night.

      Normally she’d phone to remind him. She hadn’t, mainly because she didn’t know what to say. It was all so awkward. He obviously regretted those kisses as much as she did. Every time she thought about the way she’d responded to him, she got upset. They’d both been out of line, and her biggest fear was that this momentary slip might have ruined one of the most agreeable friendships of her life.

      When Bruce’s car pulled up to the curb, Rachel wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. Reaching for her suitcase, she hurried outside, pausing only long enough to lock the door. According to the Pittsburgh forecast, which she’d looked up on the Internet, the weather there was unseasonably cold for mid-October. She’d brought along her winter coat, slung over her arm because she certainly didn’t need it in Cedar Cove right now. The Pacific Northwest enjoyed moderate temperatures, although it was uncomfortably cool at night.

      Without a word of greeting, Bruce was out of the car. He took the suitcase from her hand and heaved it into the trunk. She noticed that his eyes avoided hers.

      Rachel felt wretched. If they were going to remain friends, they needed to clear the air. She waited until she was inside the car and had fastened her seat belt.

      “I really appreciate your doing this,” she said, thinking that showing her gratitude was a good start.

      “No problem.” His response was clipped, as if he’d rather not talk to her at all. Driving into Seattle during the morning rush hour wasn’t a negligible task; Bruce was doing her a huge favor. But he’d volunteered as soon as she’d mentioned it. He had his own business, so he could take the time off.

      As they neared the freeway on-ramp she finally referred to that foolish kiss. “I guess maybe we should talk about what happened Friday night,” she said, fiddling nervously with the strap of her handbag.

      “What’s there to talk about?” Bruce returned, focusing his attention on the road ahead.

      “I want to be sure it hasn’t damaged our friendship.”

      “It hasn’t.”

      “I know you regret the whole thing. So do I,” she continued.

      He turned his head briefly, glancing in her direction. “I never said I regretted it.”

      “You apologized,” she reminded him.

      “That’s not the same as regretting it.”

      Rachel frowned, a little confused. “Oh. I guess not.” She didn’t really see the difference, but that didn’t matter. “Our friendship means a great deal to me.”

      “And me. You’ve been wonderful with Jolene.”

      “It’s more than Jolene, though.”

      “Yes,” he snapped. “It is.”

      A familiar