Free On the Edge by Pamela Britton

you eat out here a lot?” he asked, his words breaking Becca’s nervous silence.

    The question had her blinking and then mentally chastising herself for forgetting for a moment that she was having dinner, with a man, in the privacy of her backyard.

    So? asked a voice. It wasn’t like they were on a date.

    “Actually, no,” she said. “At least, not as often as I used to.”

    And there it was, the pin that always seemed to pop a balloon of conversation.

    Randy.

    The name was unspoken, but it might as well have been shouted from the rooftop.

    “I’m sorry about what happened,” he said, taking a sip of Michelle’s famous pink lemonade.

    “Thanks,” she said.

    “He seemed like a nice man.”

    “He was.”

    On some days.

    But like any married couple, there’d been good days and bad. Still, she’d been deeply in love with him, and so she shouldn’t be sitting across from another man wondering what would happen if she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.

    She owed Randy more respect than that.

    “I was surprised you stuck around the racing industry after everything that happened.”

    Becca flicked a cloth napkin open, kicking little white pieces of fuzz into the air. The pool gutter slurped loudly, the pool sweep gurgled momentarily as it surfaced.

    “I almost didn’t,” she said, leaning forward, picking up a nearby fork and stabbing a piece of chicken. “I almost chucked it all,” she admitted, lifting up the lid to the tortilla warmer. “It would have been so easy to walk away.”

    “But you didn’t,” he said, grabbing a tortilla, too.

    “Randy would have killed me,” she said with a small smile. “He worked too hard to get his truck team off the ground for me to sell it off to a bigger team.”

    “Like Sanders’ Racing?”

    Becca nodded. “Blain and Cece would have bought it. They even offered. But I think after Randy died I needed to keep busy. We didn’t have kids,” she said, and even now, years later, she still felt the pang of regret.

    But the time for “if only” had long since passed.

    “Maybe if we’d had children I might have felt differently,” she said, looking away. She didn’t want Adam to see how much it still hurt that she’d never conceived. “But in the end I think the business became almost like a child to me.”

    “And you’ve done well.”

    Ha. But aloud she said, “Somewhat.”

    “Yes, you have,” he said. “You’ve expanded the program, added a Busch and a Cup team. And you almost won a truck championship a couple of years back.”

    “Yeah, but then I lost my driver to a big name Cup team. We’ve been struggling ever since.”

    “You just need to give it time.”

    “I don’t have time, or the luxury of unlimited funds. We’re small potatoes compared to some of the other outfits.”

    “Your sponsors have stayed with you.”

    “Yeah, but for how much longer? They’ll only put up with poor performances so long. Last year was a disaster and unless I get some decent drivers soon, they’re going to bail. They may still bail.”

    “But that’s why you were out at the track today. And why you’ll be out there tomorrow. You’ll find people to pilot your cars.”

    “Yeah. Maybe you, ” she said, happy to remind herself of what the man across from her might ultimately mean to her. If he did well on Wednesday, she would have to offer him a job, which meant no more unprofessional thoughts. It’d be strictly business. But to be honest, she wanted to keep it that way—for Randy’s sake.

    “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. I might choke the moment a TV camera is pointed my way.”

    “Doubtful,” she said, taking a bite. But eating in front of him made her feel self-conscious. He watched the food enter her mouth, stared at her lips in such a way that she found herself blushing.

    “You never know,” he said.

    They settled into silence, Becca telling herself to relax. It was just a harmless dinner. Nothing to