Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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I turn, and there she is – Jo – every bit as striking as I remember. Her chestnut-brown hair, now streaked with copper highlights, is swept up into a messy bun, loose curls spilling around her round face. A pale-yellow sundress skims her sun-kissed skin, drawing the eye to her narrow waist and the soft curve of her hips. Her makeup is barely there – not that Jo ever needed it. But her dark brows are drawn tight, and in her violet eyes there's a flicker of cynicism, a shadow of suspicion, that never existed in the girl I once knew.
I start toward her, my steps slowing as my mind scrambles for something – anything – to say after all these years.
"Hi, Jo."
"Hey." She crosses her arms against her chest. "I heard you were back. Was wondering if I'd see you."
"I'm not back... permanently. I'm just visiting."
"Oh." Her eyes slowly scan the length of my body. "Okay."
I tug at my collar, the soft cotton of my Chanel T-shirt suddenly stifling, and shove my hands deep into the front pockets of my black 7 For All Mankind skinnies. Standing here in front of the girl I once sat cross-legged in the dirt with, shaping mud pies under the summer sun, I feel absurdly overdressed—like I'm wearing someone else's life.
"How've you been?"
She sighs. "Busy. How about you? How's New York?"
"New York is good—it's great. I can't wait to get back." I turn away, letting my gaze sweep over the room as if I'm checking on the kids, giving her no chance to read the truth on my face. "It's nice to get away for a bit," I add lightly, "but yeah... I'm really looking forward to going back."
The words taste false, but I keep my smile in place.
She huffs a laugh. "Delaney, I was your best friend for fifteen years. I know when you're lying."
There was a time when Jo could read my mind, finishing my sentences before I even knew where they were going. Greyson used to joke we shared a brain. But that was a long time ago.
Still, I guess some habits die slower than others.
"Momma!" Hannah exclaims.
The pitter-patter of little feet saves me from having to tell Jo the embarrassing truth of what happened in New York.
"Hi, sweetie!" Jo bends down and picks up Hannah, setting her on her hip. "How was your day?"
"Dis Laney. She my new fwiend."
"Oh yeah?" Jo asks. She leans in and places several kisses on Hannah's chubby cheeks. "And how did that happen?"
"We may have bonded over my minimal Disney knowledge and If You Give a Mouse A Cookie," I say.
"She was cwyin' and I helped hew," Hannah announces. She's so proud of herself I can't be mad at her for outing me. "Wight, Laney? I made you feel bettaw."
