He also wanted to see Laila for two reasons. The first was what Matthew had just told him — that Laila still questioned the official account of what happened on that treacherous mountain road all those years ago.
“Matthew?”
“Yeah?”
Wilde thought back to Ava’s conversation with Crash. “Anything you’re keeping from me?”
“Huh?”
“About Naomi.”
“No.”
Matthew handed him the glass of water. Then he headed up to his bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t tell Wilde what he was up to and Wilde didn’t ask. Wilde sat in the den and waited. At seven p.m., Laila’s car glided into the driveway. He stood when she opened the door.
“Hey,” Laila said when she saw him.
“Hey.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Laila said.
This was the second — and more important — reason Wilde had stayed.
“Yeah, I know,” Wilde said.
Laila stopped. “You know?”
“I was here the other night with Matthew when you pulled up. I ducked out the back.”
“Oh,” Laila said.
“Yeah.”
“Early days,” Laila said. “I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere—”
“You don’t need to explain—”
“—but it might.”
Laila just looked at him. He got the message. She was ready to take the relationship with Designer Threads to the next level. The physical level, for those slow on the take.
“No worries,” Wilde said.
“Plenty of worries,” Laila countered.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Wilde.”
He nodded and stood. “I better go.”
“It won’t be weird, right?”
“It never is, is it?”
“Sometimes it is, yeah,” Laila said. “And sometimes you stay away too much.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t intrude. But Matthew still needs you. I still need you.”
He crossed the room and kissed her cheek with almost too much tenderness. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
“I love you, Wilde.”
“I love you too, Laila.”
He smiled. She smiled. Wilde felt something in his chest crack a little. Laila... well, he didn’t know what she felt.
“Good night,” he said, and left by the back door.
Chapter Twenty
Hester chose the restaurant — RedFarm, a modern dim sum joint that mixes delicious with casual and a touch of food humor. Her favorite dumplings, for example, were called “Pac Man” and looked like the ghostly creatures from the old video game. RedFarm didn’t take reservations, but Hester came often and so she knew a guy who could get her a corner table when she needed it. The vibe here was creative and cool rather than romantic and quiet, but hey, first date.
No pressure, right?
Oren had trusted Hester to order. Now the table was loaded up with dumplings — three-color vegetable, shrimp and mango, pork and crab soup (another favorite), crispy oxtail, black truffle chicken.
“Heaven,” Oren muttered between bites.
“You like?”
“It’s so delicious I’m almost forgetting how wonderful the company is.”
“Smooth line,” Hester said. “Can I ask you about your ex-wife?”
His chopsticks had just clamped down on a dumpling. “Seriously?”
“I’m not good with subtlety.”
“Nice demonstration of that.”
“And it’s on my mind.”
“My ex-wife is on your mind?”
“I just have a few questions. I can sit here and let them distract me or I can just ask them.”
Oren picked up the dim sum. “I don’t want you distracted.”
“I found Cheryl’s Instagram page.”
“Ah,” he said.
“You’ve seen it?”
“I haven’t, no. I don’t do social media.”
“But you know about it?”
“I do, yes.”
“Do you still think about her?”
“I’m supposed to answer no, right?”
“I saw the pics.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I don’t blame you.”
“Of course I still think about her — but not like that. We were married for twenty-eight years. Do you still think of Ira?”
Hester didn’t answer right away. She had tried on a dozen outfits before settling on this dress. It was only as she caught her reflection in a window on the street that she realized it was a dress Ira always said made her look sexy.
“We both have pasts, Hester.”
“I just...” She wasn’t sure how to put it. “We’re so different. Cheryl and I.”
“Yes.”
“I know this is only a first date, but she’s just so... sexy.”
“So are you.”
“Don’t patronize me, Oren.”
“I’m not. I get it. But this isn’t a competition.”
“Thank God for that. You said Cheryl left you.”
“She did and she didn’t.”
“Meaning?”
“I think I left her first. At least emotionally. She left me because in part I left her.” He put down his chopsticks and wiped his napkin with his chin. His movements were deliberate now. “When the kids were gone, I think Cheryl felt adrift. You know our town. It’s about raising families. When that’s gone, well, you, Hester, have a career. But Cheryl just looked around her and the kids are gone and I’m still going to work every day and she’s either at home or playing tennis or going to Zumba or whatever.”
“So she just ended it?”
“One of us doesn’t have to be at fault. Divorce doesn’t mean your marriage was a failure.”
“Uh, sorry to disagree, but divorce seems to be pretty much the definition of a failed marriage.”
Oren clenched his jaw and turned away for a moment. “Cheryl and I had twenty-eight years together. We raised three good kids. We have a grandchild and another on the way. Put it this way: If you owned a car for twenty-eight years and then it breaks down, does that make the car a failure?”
Hester frowned. “That analogy is a stretch.”
“Then how about this one? If life is a book, we are both starting new chapters. She’ll always be important to me. I’ll always wish her happiness.”
“She’s just — to continue with this analogy — not in your chapters anymore?”
“Exactly.”
Hester shook her head. “God, that’s so mature I want to barf.”
Oren smiled. “Not until I try that crispy oxtail dim sum please.”
“Okay, one final question,” Hester said.
“Fine, go ahead.”
Hester cupped her hands in front of her chest. “Cheryl had a boob job, right? I mean, those puppies are high enough to double as earrings.”
Oren laughed as Hester felt her phone vibrate. She counted the pulses in her head.
“Three pulses,” she said. “I have to take it.”
“What?”
“One pulse is just a regular call. Two pulses means it’s work. Three, it’s something important and I should pick it up.”
Oren gestured with both hands. “Pick it up already.”
She put the phone to her ear. It was Sarah McLynn from her office.
“What’s up?” Hester asked.
“Are you on your date?”
“You’re interrupting it.”
“Sneak a photo of him. I want to see.”
“Was there another reason for this call?”
“Does there have to be?”
“Sarah.”
“Fine. I reached out to Naomi’s mother like you asked.”
“And?”
“And she refuses to talk to you. She said to mind your own business and hung up.”