In truth, she had never felt as nervous in her thirty-something years as she felt on entering that coffee-shop; a direct result, she told herself, of wanting what Stella already had with her own husband for herself. Nerves that were calmed somewhat when she saw her normally immaculately clothed and groomed husband looking dishevelled and none too hygienic.
“I, hmm, wasn’t sure what you would want.”
“Don’t lie, Robbie,” she scolded him, using the belittling diminutive for the first time and pleased when he didn’t pick up on it.
Or at least not enough to attempt to take her to task on her use of it.
He would, she assured herself, be getting used to hearing it soon enough, reining herself back as she remembered Stella’s advice not to push too hard too soon and warning herself to take thin
