LITMIR.BIZ

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of which included her thumb over the lens—she was no good at arranging them artfully. “You have an eye for these things,” Ari had wheedled.

      “In other words, you’re hoping I’ll do all the work,” Rachel had translated with a laugh.

      “In a nutshell.”

      With Quinn’s help, the two of them had been surreptitiously gathering pictures from half the people in town. Rachel would be shocked if Lilah and Tanner hadn’t caught wind of it yet. Mistletonians weren’t known for their ability to keep secrets. Rachel had an assortment of childhood pictures, sweetheart photos from when the couple had first dated back in high school, individual milestone shots, such as college graduations and Lilah’s first day teaching, and more recent mementos from the previous year, when they’d rekindled their romance. Even though Rachel had been happy to help with the project, she’d been procrastinating. Laying out a visual representation of another couple’s romance while her own was in decline had been difficult.

      Now just the opposite was happening. Sure, there was a melancholy twinge when she looked at the timeline of Lilah and Tanner’s love spread out across her coffee table, but staring at their memories, she was also caught up in her own. Good ones. As she cut and glued and sorted through her collection of stamps and die-cut embellishments, she found herself unconsciously whistling again. She paused, replaying the melody in her mind to figure out what it was.

      “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head.”

      Just as she was debating turning on the radio versus the television for background noise, the phone rang.

      “Hello?”

      “It’s me,” David said. “I just wanted to let you know there’s a rerun of Lost on TV tonight.”

      “Oh. Okay, thanks.”

      “It’s a repeat, but I’m pretty sure it’s that one you missed last fall.”

      Because she’d misprogrammed the VCR, she remembered, taping an hour’s worth of some completely random channel. “That’s sweet, David, but I caught that episode. Watched it online.”

      There was a pause. “You saw it without me?” They’d watched the show together from the very first episode, speculating during commercials, each having different theories about where the storylines were going and how to tell when Ben was lying (when his lips were moving).

      “Sorry,” she said, meaning it. Funny with everything that each of them could legitimately regret about their relationship how bad she suddenly felt about watching an hour of television alone. “You haven’t seen it?”

      “No. It’s on in about ten minutes. I was planning to get the dogs settled and sit down with a sandwich for dinner.”

      “I’ll turn it on, too,” she decided. “You know how that show is. There are always clues you miss the first time around.”

      Once they got off the phone, she got the remote control out of the side pocket of David’s recliner and found the right channel. During the second commercial break, David called to ask her if the episode was going to conclude the way he thought—it wasn’t—and then laughingly argued with her when she refused to tell him how it did end.

      “Just wait and see,” she teased. “I kind of like you not having all the answers for a change.”

      “Gee, thanks.” The casual affection in his tone belied his words. “Have you been taking brat lessons from Ari?”

      “I’m hanging up on you now,” she informed him. “Show’s coming back on.”

      Half an hour later, he called back during another commercial break trying to remember where he’d seen one of the guest actors before.

      “You know, that’s the sort of thing you could find in about thirty seconds on the Internet,” she pointed out, holding her breath. Would he tell her that the calls weren’t just about the show? Perhaps he looked forward to talking to her the same way she was looking forward to seeing him again on Saturday.

      “Yeah, but if I go online, I’m going to look up the episode and see how it ends. I have no willpower.”

      She snorted, thinking of his dedicated jogging regimen and the way he pursued goals with determination. “What a crock.”

      “Well.” His voice went lower. “I have more self-discipline when it comes to some things than others.”

      She sat a little straighter on the couch. “Really?”

      “Really. I keep entertaining these thoughts that I tell myself are inappropriate, but it hasn’t stopped me from thinking them.” He paused. “Anything like that ever happen to you?”

      Only whenever she saw him. Or heard his voice. Or thought of him. “Yeah, as a matter of fact.”

      “Any tips on how to handle it?”

      Oh, sure—the one time David asked for advice from her, she was clueless what to tell him. “You got me.”

      “All evidence to the contrary.” He said it lightly, but there was a noticeable undercurrent.

      He misses me. Whether his feelings were spawned by learning about the baby or by the fragile new peace between them or by nostalgia from the preparations for the upcoming wedding, she didn’t doubt that the emotion was legitimate. It wasn’t fair that they were getting along better apart than they had together. Was it because they were both so happy about the baby? It was easier to get along when things were going well, but would their renewed friendship withstand future hardships? That’s where they’d stumbled before. For better or worse. The latter was clearly the more difficult to master.

      The blaring notes of some show’s theme song jolted her attention back to the television, where opening credits were rolling. She reached for the remote. “We missed the rest of Lost.”

      He groaned. “Okay, now you have to tell me how it ended.”

      Once she’d obligingly filled him in, they said their good-nights. With the television off and David gone, the house was more hushed than ever. Unable to get back into her scrapbooking groove, she decided to get ready for bed. And sleep where?

      The logical choice was probably the larger quality mattress in the master bedroom, but she hadn’t slept there in over a month. Pondering, she flipped on the hallway light and walked to the would-be nursery where she’d spent her most recent nights in the house.

      The room looked different even though nothing discernible had changed. It seemed bigger, somehow, not a place where she felt trapped anymore but a space of infinite possibilities. She thought back to her time on the phone with David, and optimism bubbled inside her. Was there a chance that, by the time they learned this baby’s gender, Rachel would be living in the house with him? She imagined sitting next to him in bed, poring over magazines together, eyeing pink teddy bear motifs or sports mobiles with soccer balls and baseballs.

      “I can’t wait,” she said aloud. Was it strange to talk to your belly? “I can’t wait to meet you. We already love you so much.”

      Having struggled through the tough decisions—whether to take the drugs, when it was time to stop, whether they should try again—she was exhilarated by the prospect of making the fun decisions. The nursery theme, buying cute little outfits, adding cartoons to her movie collection and finding copies of beloved children’s books. She decided not to sleep in here, whether because of superstition or because she wouldn’t get any rest staring at the walls and trying to picture how different borders and stencils would look, but she took one long last look before turning off the light.

      Infinite possibilities. A phrase that suddenly seemed to apply not just to this room, but her life.

      “THANKS AGAIN for agreeing to this,” David said, his grateful smile making him so appealing that Rachel lost her breath for a minute.

      I want to kiss him.

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