21
MADELINE
Tara and I sat down for lunch together for the second time since I’d met her at support group the week before. Saturday had been four hours of both of us sharing our stories over salads with grilled chicken and two glasses of wine each.
I’d even told her about the mess with Colton, which made my chest ache with longing.
She didn’t judge Hudson or me for our lifestyle and admitted to enjoying a little pain with her pleasure, how her husband sometimes shared her with another couple who played at a b**m club in downtown Boston.
I invited her over the following Friday for lunch since she was off work, and I had no baking orders to fill.
It was five o’clock somewhere, so I mixed up a couple of margaritas to go with the fish tacos I’d made. After lunch, I took her upstairs to t
