the reason Althea had gone. She could let go of that now. “When one of my roommates moved out, I tried to get my mom to move in with me, but she refused. A few weeks later she had a heart attack and died.”
Wyatt gaped at her. “How old was she?”
“Not quite fifty. But she was worn down, anorexic. She never ate. She was always too worried to eat. It finally killed her.”
With her story out, exhaustion set in. Missy’s shoulders slumped.
He turned to the coffeepot, poured two cups. “Here.”
She smiled shakily. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Secrets are always better if you tell them.”
She laughed. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “School, I guess. In grade school I hid the fact that I was bullied from my parents. But in high school I knew I couldn’t let it go on. The kids were bigger, meaner, and I was no match. So I told them. They talked to the school principal. At first the bullies kept at me, but after enough detention hours, and seeing that I wasn’t going to be their personal punching bag anymore, they stopped.”
Missy laughed, set her cup on the counter beside him and flattened her hands on his chest. “Poor baby.”
“I’d have paid good money to have you tell me that in high school.”
“I really did like you, you know. I thought of you as smart and honest.”
“I was.”
She peeked up at him. “You are now, too.”
The room got quiet. They stood as close as lovers, but something more hummed between them. Emotionally, she’d never been as connected to anyone as she was to him right now. She knew he didn’t want anything permanent, but in this minute, she didn’t, either. All she wanted was the quiet confirmation that, secrets shared, she would feel in the circle of his arms. She wanted to feel. To be real. To be whole.
Then she heard the kids out in the yard. Her kids. Her life. She didn’t need sex to tell her she was real, whole. She had a life. A good life. A life she’d made herself. She had a cake to bake this Saturday. Soon she’d have an assistant. She’d make cakes for grocery stores and restaurants. Her life had turned out better than she’d expected. She had good things, kids to live for, a business that made her happy.
She stepped away. A one-night stand would be fun. But building a good life was better. “I’ve gotta go.”
He studied her. “You’re okay?”
“I’m really okay.” She smiled. “I’m better than okay. Thanks for letting me talk to you.”
“That’s what friends do.”
Her smile grew. The tension in her chest eased. “Exactly. So if you have any deep, dark secrets, I’m here for you, friend.”
“You know my story. Stood up to bullies in high school, made lots of money, bad marriage, worse divorce—which I’m beginning to feel better about, thank you for asking.”
She laughed and headed for the door. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where I am.”
“Like I said, I have no secrets.”
She stopped, faced him again. He might not have secrets, but he did have hurts. Hurts he didn’t share.
Were it not for those hurts, she probably wouldn’t push open the door and walk away. She’d probably be in his arms right now. But she did push on the screen door, did leave his kitchen. They were both too smart to get involved when he couldn’t let go of his past.
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