Excerpt of The Summer of Second Chances by Miranda Liasson

“Anyway, your tile’s right in there”—Nick pointed to a pile of boxes—“but we need to talk about the rest of the bathroom.”

Darla glanced around the torn-up room. “I’m a little sad that you’re making it beautiful when I’m about to move out.”

“Then don’t,” flew right of his mouth.

Startled, she jerked up her head. Suddenly the air seemed too still, the space too small. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and tell her he didn’t want her to go. But that would be…ridiculous. Finally, he pushed back from the wall and pointed to the still-standing marble slabs that had surrounded the bathtub.

“Doing this remodel will increase the resale value because everything was dated. And hopefully it will make the house sell more quickly. Besides, it’s too late for regrets. We just have to move forward.” He felt like he was only half talking about the bathroom.

“I’m all for moving forward,” she said. “Tell me what I have to do about picking out the fixtures.”

He handed her the magazine page.

She took a glance at it and then frowned. “This is the photograph I showed you months ago when I asked you about the tile. I told you—I told you I loved this bathroom.”

Whew. Glad she still felt that way or he’d be in trouble. “Yeah. Well, if you’re okay with me going forward, we’re going to get you that bathroom right there.”

Looking incredulous, she shook her head. “I never meant to hint—”

“You didn’t hint. But I could tell you really liked it. I do too.” This was something he could do for her, something he was good at. He really wanted to do it, and he didn’t want her to feel bad. “So…do you trust me?”

“Yes?”

He held his chest like she’d just wounded him. “I’m going to show you what I can do. And it’s going to knock your socks off.”

“I can’t wait to be impressed.” She paused. “Thank you.”

His gaze held hers. And again, he felt like they weren’t really talking about remodeling bathrooms at all. But then maybe it was just a weird day.

Being this close to her was making him remember things. Like a time when, after all this back and forth, she’d be in his arms, laughing and giggling and definitely not getting down to business. Or rather, getting down to a completely different kind of business.

“What’s this?” He pointed to her midarm. He lifted her sleeve a little to reveal a Disney princess Band-Aid.

She glanced down. “Got my blood drawn.”

“You hate needles.” He traced over the Band-Aid with his fingertips before he realized that wasn’t a good idea and dropped his hand.

“Yeah, well, I still do. Only difference is now I can joke about it a little. Hence the Disney Band-Aids.” She tapped her arm. “The lab techs know me too well.”

He tried to think of something funny to say about the cartoon characters, but he was at a loss. “It killed me to watch you go through that cancer,” he blurted instead.

Whoa.Where had that come from? He didn’t really know. The words had just…poured out.

She sucked in a breath, looking completely thrown.

“I’ve never felt so helpless in my life,” he added. Okay, his mouth diarrhea was not stopping, and he had no control.

She stared at him. Swallowed hard. “We were divorced quite a while by then. I didn’t want you hanging around because of pity.”

“You confused pity with caring.” He said it quickly, forcefully, the words fast as the snap of a rubber band.

And…he’d just told her he cared.

It was the most honest moment that had passed between them in years. Which was probably pretty sad. But she noticed too, because her eyes suddenly got watery, but she blinked fast.

“We were best friends for a long time before we were lovers,” he said, not letting this go. “Not being able to be there for you…it was devastating.”

“Why are you…why are you telling me this now?” Her voice was hoarse, choked with emotion.

“Because you’re leaving for good, and if we’re not truthful with each other now, we never will be.”

He realized they were standing amid the rubble, reminiscent of their rubble of a marriage. Too bad relationships couldn’t be remodeled as easily as bathrooms.

“Do you—um—do you think we could be friends again?” she whispered.

“Darla, I never stopped being your friend.” He couldn’t prevent the crack in his voice. Or the quickening of his pulse at the words she’d just said. He could barely stop himself from taking her in his arms.

Who comforted her, he couldn’t help but wonder? Oh, her friends were wonderful, but who held her? Who helped her through this battle she’d probably never really stop fighting, in one way or another?

He wanted to. He wished he could.

He took a step closer. Her eyes were round and wide, and in them, with her defenses lowered, he finally saw the same woman he knew from so long ago. And that made him giddy with relief. Did she remember the good times before the divorce, before the mistakes and the miscommunication, like he did? The tenderness in her eyes told him she might. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, driven by some force he could not control, to place a kiss on her pretty, full mouth.

Her lips were soft and warm, and she gave a little gasp on contact, but she didn’t pull away, and that gave him hope that she was feeling the same wild, short-circuiting connection that he was.

He’d just brought his hands up to hold her, to kiss her more thoroughly, to take her in his arms for real, when someone called Darla’s name. She stepped back quickly and cleared her throat. And he stood there, dazed, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.