Second step, awe and wonder at his accomplishments. “Oh, wow, a therapist. I’ve been thinking of getting my master’s in counseling, believe it or not.” Then, later, “I can’t wait to read your book!” She took her phone out of her purse. “There. I just ordered it.”
Third step （new for Melissa）， befriend the wife. “Oh, Lillie, what an amazing job you have. Did you always want to be a nurse? Sorry, nurse-midwife?” It would be easier to evaluate Bradley if Lillie were friendly and unsuspecting.
Meanwhile, Bradley fell under her spell. He was quite handsome, well educated, and he looked at her as if she were a new planet, beautiful and fascinating, like nothing he had ever seen. All while Lillie sat there, blissfully ignorant.
There weren’t a whole lot of men to choose from up here. She didn’t want a laborer—her landscaper had been quite attractive, but he was too close to her age, and besides, he loved his wife and had six children. The second selectman had obviously been interested, but he was on his third wife, so no, thanks.
Brad—Bradley—was handsome in that pretty-boy, Ralph Lauren way. He had a soft voice that made her lean forward a little as he commended her on taking in her niece and asked her about life in New York. His hair was still fairly thick, and the gray made him look distinguished. And his eyes . . . his eyes were nearly turquoise, and utterly unguarded.
How would he be in bed? It didn’t matter. She could teach him.
Meanwhile, she made sure not to exclude Lillie.
Lillie had been quite nice to her. Had welcomed her with flowers when she and Ophelia moved in, as well as a homemade cake that Ophelia said was delicious （Melissa didn’t do carbs, and certainly not desserts）。 Lillie had put her in touch with every person she could need, from the girl currently babysitting Ophelia to a cleaning service.
But that didn’t matter. Bradley was a cheater waiting to happen. As he talked about his book, his education, slipping in mentions of his Beacon Hill childhood and boarding school days, Melissa knew he hadn’t had a woman this interested in him in a long time. He asked her about herself, and she glossed over her interest in becoming a therapist （she was actually accruing quite a few Instagram followers and was leaning toward becoming an influencer）。
“I thought you were opening a yoga studio,” Lillie said.
“Well, I was, but there do seem to be a few around here. Do you practice yoga, Lillie?”
“Well, I take classes. And I do love it.”
“Really!” Because you sure couldn’t tell, looking at that round little body. “We should take a class together sometime, if you don’t mind. You can tell me who the best teachers are. Go easy on me, okay? The most exercise I’ve done this year is unpack boxes.” A lie, of course, but they laughed merrily.
Bradley （and Lillie, she supposed） wanted to know all about Ophelia, and Melissa spun her as a smart, brave kid who’d had a rough time of things, rather than the petulant, irritating, ungrateful tween she was. She told them Dennis had been the love of her life, and she was still grieving, of course. “I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, as they say,” she said. “But really, my focus is on Ophelia. Dennis was the only father she ever knew.” More murmurs of sympathy and praise. This was fun!
By the time dessert was served （to Lillie）， Bradley had invited her to visit his office so they could talk about the different types of therapists. Lillie finished her entire crème br?lée, set up a date for them to take yoga and told her she should join the Wellfleet Cultural Council, since Melissa had said how interested she was in the arts.
All the while, the poor chubby woman didn’t realize her marriage was about to crash.
Bradley was distinguished by nature of his good looks, advanced degrees and wealthy parents. He stood to inherit a beautiful home on Beacon Hill, but from what Melissa could glean （which was a lot）， they were solidly middle class. Rich parents were just extra. She didn’t need his money. He would be so grateful to her as she freed him from a stale marriage and granted him the opportunity to be with her—sixteen years younger （practically the same age when compared to Dennis）。 A beautiful woman, independently wealthy, sexy as JLo but without all those divorces. Melissa didn’t need to be a trophy wife. Now she could choose a man who interested her, who thought she was amazing. Someone who’d be her arm candy, but someone with class, too.
They would be such a great couple. The couple everyone would want to have over for dinner, the couple who could endow town projects and support local galleries and throw fundraisers at her incredible house. A prenup, of course. Unlike New York, Cape Cod was a place where Melissa would be someone of great importance.