Chapter Three
“Ell, I know this is a shock. But, honestly, I think you’re handling it as sensibly as any reasonable individual would,” Gen spoke earnestly.
“You mean by closing my shop in the middle of the afternoon and going day drinking with you?”
“Precisely.”
“Not exactly what you’d call responsible behavior.”
Gen snorted. “No, but it’s what any sane person would do when they find out that they’re actually married to their childhood best friend—a person they’ve been secretly harboring a raging crush on since they were eight years old.”
“Oh, stop with that! You’re being ridiculous. I’ve always said, and I’ll say it again, I do not have a crush on Donovan Valentine!”
Gen rolled her eyes as she mouthed the last part along with Ella, then said. “Okay, right. The fire-engine-red blush that just took over about seventy-five percent of your face would beg to differ, but whatever.”
Ella buried her face in her hands and found that, yep, it was burning up.
Damn.
She’d obviously never been able to hide her feelings from Genevieve, anyway. So why didn’t she just cop to them? It should’ve been easy. Gen clearly already knew the truth. But, for whatever reason, she just couldn’t. So for twenty-five years, it had been a steady pattern of deny, deny, deny.
You know why you can’t say it out loud, a little voice in the back of her head whispered. Because that would make it real.
“Gen, what am I going to do?” she moaned.
Gen shrugged. “Go on a honeymoon?”
A stab penetrated Ella’s heart. God. That almost exactly mirrored a joke that Donovan had made in Vegas, fifteen years before. Man, she missed him.
She was quite adept at pushing it down most of the time. She could fool herself pretty easily into thinking that he’d faded from her heart the way he’d faded from her life.
But all it took was one reminder and she was right back in high school again, awash in all of the same feelings, and then she had to admit to herself she was full of shit. Donovan Valentine was still in living color in her heart, every bit as vivid as when he’d lived next door to her and they’d spent every waking moment together.
Genevieve put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Sorry, hon. I can see this has thrown you for a loop. What do you think you’re going to do about it? For real?”
“I don’t know. I mean, what should I say to those people?”
“Here’s a radical idea. Have you thought about telling them the truth?”
A defensive instinct kicked up in her. “No. I don’t think I can. I mean, what if something I say gets Donovan in trouble?”
“Honey, protecting him isn’t your responsibility. Especially if it comes down to lying to the Feds.”
Her friend’s terminology made Ella giggle, which was a welcome relief. “The ‘Feds’ Gen? Really? Who are you, Al Capone?”
“Oh, honey. I’ve got sides to me you can’t even imagine.”
After their laughter died down, Ella shook her head, the gravity of the situation descending again. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do, G. I don’t even know how to get ahold of him except email. Do you think they monitor that? I’m sure they do. Hell, they might have a spy in here right now, for all we know.”
Gen crinkled her eyes, clearly dubious. “I think you might be overestimating your position on the FBI’s most wanted list, babe.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just wish there was a way to know for sure that I was doing the right thing.”
“Oh, man, Ell. Welcome to life. Who the hell ever knows if they’re doing the right thing? All you can do is wing it and hope for the best.”
“Oh, God. Please print that on a T-shirt. Immediately, if not sooner.” Ella laughed and nudged her shoulder against her friend’s. She didn’t know if it was the company or the alcohol or both, but she was actually starting to feel a little better.
“I don’t think the world’s ready for my wisdom.”
“Good. I’ll just keep it all for myself then.”
“Excellent. Hey, here’s a question. If you’ve been secretly married to Pretty Boy Valentine all this time, that means that you’ve actually been cheating on his ass with Manbun Mike.”
Ella groaned. “Please stop calling him that.”
“Fine. Hipster Harry.”
“His name is Jagger.”
Gen barked out a laugh. “I love how you think that what I said was more insulting to him than what you just said.”
“I know you don’t like him, which is weird since you’ve never even met him, but he’s not that bad. Plus, we’ve been on, like, three dates. It’s nothing serious. He just delivers my clay, and sometimes we go out.”
“Oooo…he delivers your clay…”
Ella smacked her arm. “For sculpting, you perv.”
“Okay. So, his name is Jagger. He delivers clay to sculptors, and, yes, he has a manbun. I don’t think it’s a stretch to call the man a hipster. I’ve personally never met anyone who sounds more like they’d be on their way to a drum circle. Trust me, there are worse things I could say about him.”
“Please don’t.”
“Does Jag-off know he’s the other man?”
“Gen, stop.”
“Did you get a burner cell for all your illicit communication? Do you meet at sleazy motels that rent by the hour?”
“Oh my God, stop!” Ella knew that the impact of her words was probably mitigated somewhat by the fact that they were delivered through laughter, but she had to at least make an attempt.
Gen shrugged. “It’s fine. I was getting myself all hot and bothered, anyway. Not at the thought of Microbrew Mitchell, obviously. But, yeah. Describing all that delicious illicitness kinda got me going.”
“Your mind is a place I fear exploring too deeply.”
Gen grinned and lifted her beer, clinking the bottle against Ella’s in small makeshift toast. “Probably for the best.”
They drank in silence for a while after that, and even though Ella still had zero idea how she should handle the situation, she did find herself eternally grateful that, no matter how much of a mess it turned into, she would always have Gen’s unique brand of sarcastic but steel-strong support to get her through it.