Her Favorite Husband. Caron Todd

had already ordered his meal. By the time the waiter arrived with coffee, Sarah had chosen one of the lunch specials printed on a blackboard menu—an almost zero-fat meal of poached arctic char and a salad.

      When the waiter left she said, “Ian, could we let it go?”

      “It?”

      The unpromising response made her pause. “Whatever’s causing problems between us.”

      He looked the way he had yesterday, withdrawn, and not friendly in the least. It was hard to feel good about the middle part of the evening given his antagonism before and since.

      Oh, well. She’d unmade the bed, and regardless of lumps, she’d have to lie in it for a while.

      The slight variation on the old saying made her smile, and a man two tables over smiled back. It cheered her up. Male admiration had a way of putting a spring in her step.

      “Careful, Sarah.”

      “Of?”

      “Some of the men around here are just down from the mines. They’re two weeks in, two weeks out.”

      “Not exactly an eternity.”

      “They spend half the month in a high-security zone accessible only by plane in summer and ice road in winter. The other half of the month they like to unwind—”

      “Understandably. It’s nice of you to be concerned, but it isn’t necessary. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past ten years?”

      “Getting married, apparently.” He muttered it almost grumpily. His tone surprised Sarah. Pleased her, too.

      “Looking after myself. Spying the wolves with my own little eye. Anyway, if I were looking for romance there’s someone at home who—”

      His shock stopped her. A flash of it, then nothing, his face expressionless.

      He’d misunderstood. And thought the worst.

      The waiter arrived with their meals. They sat in stiff silence while he deposited plates in front of them and refilled their coffee cups.

      She wouldn’t explain. Let Ian leap to his regularly scheduled judgments.

      “SOMEONE AT HOME.” Ian tried to keep his voice neutral.

      “That’s right.”

      Maybe in her book, cheating with an ex wasn’t really cheating. He’d thought better of her.

      “How many winter coats have you had since we broke up?”

      “How many?” She looked at him blankly. “I have no idea.”

      “It’s been ten years. Three coats? Four?”

      She shrugged. “I have a long gray one with a fur collar for formal occasions. A red one for dreary days. A ski jacket for the slopes. A black-and-white houndstooth for contrast when I wear all black. An all-weather trench with a zip-out lining. A long down parka for visiting at home in January. A cape, but that’s not strictly a coat—”

      “Okay. Got it.”

      “Got what?”

      “You have a coat for every mood and every occasion.” Maybe he was finally starting to understand her. “This is just the way you are, isn’t it?”

      “I don’t know. What am I agreeing with?”

      “Your need for variety.”

      She picked at her fish, separating the flakes with her fork. After a few moments she said, “This is very good char.”

      Ignoring an idea she didn’t like, as usual.

      Just as well. He was starting to feel ashamed of himself, being petty enough to ask the question.

      They went on talking, two acquaintances catching up on each other’s news. About parents and siblings, about the storm that had destroyed her family’s house a couple of years earlier. Ian had heard about it at the time. It was a real loss. A grand old house, moldering away until the wind gave it a swift end. He’d liked the place. Missed it, after the divorce. Missed her family, too.

      “Why are you pretending you’re not angry, Sarah?”

      “Angry?”

      “About last night.”

      She gave him a cool smile. “You think I can’t have a roll in the hay and come out of it unscathed? It didn’t mean all that much to me, Ian. And your…behavior wasn’t a big surprise. It’s what you do.”

      “What I do?”

      “Run off.”

      “I run off?”

      Their voices had steadily been getting louder. Not much, but people at nearby tables had noticed. He lowered his, and suggested that she should, too. Even before he’d finished saying it, the anger he’d known must be there swept into her face.

      “DON’T TELL ME HOW LOUDLY to speak. You’re the one who can’t carry on a normal conversation. And then you scold me?”

      Ian pushed his plate away. “I don’t need this, Sarah. We’ve been divorced for ten years. There has to be some advantage to that, right? Lunches don’t have to dissolve into fights anymore.”

      “Our lunches never dissolved into fights. What are you talking about? Is that how you remember it?”

      “It doesn’t matter how either of us remembers it. We were married for two years a decade ago. A blip in both our lives.”

      A blip? “And last night? Was that a blip, too?”

      “Of course it was.”

      “A blip.”

      “Had to be, didn’t it?”

      She was annoyed, for no good reason. She knew he was right.

      It was the physical thing. They’d gone to bed the week they met and after that they had tumbled together at every opportunity. As hello, as goodbye, as good-morning and good-night. As an apology. As exercise. As entertainment. Anytime they got within three feet of each other. They’d mistaken it for belonging together.

      “I don’t mean to be offensive,” Ian said. “It was one time only. By definition that’s a blip.”

      “Why are you going on and on about it? You’re protesting a little too much. The blipness of last night getting to you?”

      He took a few bills from his wallet, tucked them under his cup, stuck his laptop into its case and started out of the restaurant.

      She wasn’t going to be left behind, not again. Loading up her parcels, she hurried outside, too. By the time she reached the sidewalk he was half a block ahead, waiting at the curb for the light to change.

      Just as it did, she caught up with him. He crossed the road and turned right. That was the direction she’d come from in the morning, so she went that way, too, nearly stepping on his heels.

      He responded by taking bigger steps. Over his shoulder he said, “Sarah, I have work to do.”

      “So do I.”

      “Work?”

      “Sure. What did you think, that I dropped everything? I’m in contact with the office. A big, fat, profit-draining problem has already landed on my lap.”

      “Then why don’t you stop following me?”

      “What makes you think I’m following you? How arrogant is that?”

      “You’re behind me, going in the same direction.”

      “Whither thou, darling.”

      “It’s a bit late for that.”

      Sarah gave an exasperated groan.