Chapter 17: Strangers at the Next Table

Tillie's POV

Dean saw me across the ballroom and smiled.

Carol walked in on the arm of Harbor Mutual's managing partner, a gray-haired woman in a navy suit who held her elbow with real care.

Shelby came behind them in a red dress, one step behind Dean, with her phone in a clutch.

Giles's hand tightened on my back.

"Breathe," he said.

"I am."

"You stopped."

I started again.

We sat at a round table near the head table, with Giles's coworkers and their wives.

Dean's table was two over from ours, close enough that I could see his watch.

He worked the room through the soup.

I watched him lean toward a client and murmur something, and the client's eyes slid to me.

He did it at three tables.

I knew what he was saying. I had heard him say it for five years, to people who loved him: She's emotional, bless her, we're working through it.

"Tillie," Giles's boss said stiffly, across the bread. "I hope you're comfortable."

"I am. Thank you for having me."

His smile went thin.

Over the fish, the managing partner stood and tapped her glass.

"We have a guest with a story I'd like him to share," she said. "Our new regional man in Boston. Dean."

Dean rose and buttoned his jacket.

"Thank you. I'm new in town, so I'll be short."

He looked directly at me.

"I came to Boston because I lost someone. I won't say who, but she's in this room."

"We were together five years, and I made the mistake of teasing her once, and she's never forgiven me."

A murmur went through the tables.

"It was just a joke," Dean said. "A silly flea market joke."

"And now she's married to a man she hadn't seen in five years, and I can't make anyone understand she isn't herself."

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