“It was . . . fun.”
“Fun?” Rita sputters, spraying a bit of her black coffee from her lips. “Going to knitting club is fun. Listening to kids laugh is fun. Watching a hockey game is fun. Bull Eaton is not fun. That hunk of a man is seriously hot and hung. I mean, I imagine he’s hung. I have no idea if he is, but he has to be. His name is Bull.” Rita’s voice rises in exasperation at my lack of facts, causing me to laugh.
Rita is my oldest friend. We met in college and formed an instant connection with one another. I hate that life got in the way for both of us after graduation, meaning we haven’t seen as much of each other in the past two decades. I’ve missed her. In a weird fluke of the cosmos, she called me on the day my life crumbled, and I’m so grateful I answered the phone. It’s like some higher power knew I needed a friend, and there Rita was, encouraging me to come to Vermont to visit her.
“Would you keep your voice down?” I chuckle again, looking over my shoulder. The Busy Bean Café is a quaint establishment. Quirky and eclectic, it’s the definition of fun. The place has large, leaded glass windows overlooking the Winooski River, wide pinewood floors, and walls in a warm brick color. Heavy beams painted in black chalkboard paint are decorated with cartoon figures of coffee drinks and sayings like “May the odds be ever in your flavor.” Cute pun. Furniture like this plush peach couch is just a part of the novel collection of tables, chairs, and easy furniture arranged for maximum socializing. The coffee bar itself is topped with a thick zinc counter and holds a glass display case with various pastries. It’s wacky, warm, and wonderful in here.
“Look, if I can’t live through you, what is the purpose of my life?” Rita teases. While that might have been true when I had the lush apartment, the sexy husband, and the energizing job, it’s no longer the case. No one wants to live through me, not even me.
“You don’t think badly of me?” I hesitate. “I mean, it’s only been a week since I left Boston.” While I probably should feel a little more guilt that I so easily slept with a virtual stranger one week after leaving my husband, I don’t. He slept with someone else first, but it’s not as easy as tit for tat. Shelton and I have been distant for longer than I was willing to recognize. The reality of our waning closeness has weighed heavily on my mind this past week.
“Girl, I would never think badly of you. We all make decisions for a variety of reasons. Falling into bed with a hunky man doesn’t seem like the worst to me. You deserve a reckless night once in a while.”
“But I’m still married,” I remind her.
“Which your husband seemed to have forgotten long before the other night.” Rita’s correct, and my guilt subsides a little more. There’s no reconciliation in sight for Shelton and me. I don’t want to go back to who we were or who I was.
“What I really want to know is when will you see Bull again?” Rita asks.
“I won’t.” I shrug. Bull was more than fun but waking up without his number was a good reminder I’m not really a one-night stand kind of girl. On the other hand, I’m not looking for a relationship that involves any kind of commitment.
“Why not?”
“He didn’t leave me his number.”
Rita stares at me, blinking behind red-framed eyeglasses. They’re fun. “He didn’t leave his number?” Rita’s expression matches her incredulous voice.
I shake my head. “Maybe it’s normal for someone like Bull to have one-night stands. Love ’em and leave ’em style.” Even as I say the words, I don’t think they’re true. Bull wasn’t so cavalier unless he’s a damn good actor and lover, which he was damn good on the lover level. He was generous. God, was he generous. He made sure I came first and often, and then when I was finished, he made certain I was satisfied before moving forward. Unlike Shelton, who typically came first and offered me assistance second, Bull was attentive and considerate. I’d hate to think his generosity was a performance on his part.
“Honey, that does not sound like Bull Eaton. Not one iota.”
I stare at my friend, waiting for further explanation.
“Rumor has it he’s asked five different women to marry him. He has commitment written all over him. A man who makes engagements does not forget to leave his phone number.”
Apparently, Bull did not want commitment from me. But I’m not in a position to start a relationship anyway.
“Five engagements? That sounds a little desperate, and since when do you believe rumors?” Rita’s an attorney. She thrives on facts, not hearsay.
“Since it’s all I have to live off as you won’t share details.” We both laugh at her emphatic answer. “I’m not saying the rumors are true. It’s just . . . Bull doesn’t seem like a one-night stand kind of guy, even if I did push you in that direction.” Rita’s voice softens, expressing her concern and compassion for my situation.
“You didn’t push me. And thanks again for coming out with me to The Gin Mill. Was that difficult for you?” My friend is a recovered alcoholic, and going to a bar might have been the last place on her list of good times.
“Not my first choice of hangouts but also not the most difficult place to hang. I know my limits, and I’d have let you know if I reached them. Did my own stud finder scope out while I was there.”
“Stud finder?”
“You took the bull. I need a stud.” A moment passes before I catch her meaning, and I bend at the waist, laughing a good hard laugh. I have really missed this woman.
“I promise we will get you one the next time.” Although, I’m not certain there will be a next time. I don’t know how to do the day after, or in this case, two days later, when I don’t know how to find Bull.
“I could get you Bull’s number. Quick little social media check or database search.” Rita wiggles her brows.
“I don’t want to hunt him down like some stalker, and I’m going to ignore the fact you mentioned database searching. You shouldn’t abuse your attorney privileges.” I wink at her. I’ve done my own sleuthing like that in the past, seeking the next great gossip before it broke wide, but those days are over now. “I’m not in a position for long term. I have bigger issues, like finalizing my divorce with Shelton, finding a new job, and deciding what’s next for me.”
Rita nods, accepting the hard truth of my messed-up life. “What do you think should be next?”
As it will take three to four months to finalize my divorce in the state of Massachusetts where Shelton and I resided, I just have to wait out that time. I can’t think about a new job just yet, uncertain the entertainment industry is right for me anymore, which leaves me with my final decision.
I look around the coffee house and take a deep breath. It’s been roughly ten days since I left Boston.
“I think I’d like to stay in Vermont a little longer. I’ve checked with the rental office at Green Rocks, and I can keep my place until May first.” It’s mid-March, and the continued rental gets me through April.
My friend’s brows lift. “That’s wonderful.” Her genuine smile reassures me of my plan. “Can you afford it?” Then she laughs. “Of course, you can afford it, what am I saying?”