Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Something you’d like to tell me?” I ask, perching on the arm of the couch, trying my damnedest to look harmless.
“Vashti and I—”
“What the hell is she doing in my house?”
Okay. That came out wrong.
Or maybe it came out exactly as I felt it, but I wouldn’t have said it if my emotions weren’t in freefall. He quirks a dark brow at me, his mouth tightening in the corners.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and smooth my dress. “You were saying?”
“You have no reason to be upset.”
“Nothing makes a woman more upset than her husband telling her she has nothing to be upset about.”
“Ex-husband,” he corrects softly.
“Right.” A stiff smile takes hold of my face. “Ex-husband, a man telling a woman she should stay calm. It’s how we know shit’s happening we should be upset about.”
“Nothing’s happening that shouldn’t be.” He gives me a look from under dark lashes that hides nothing and is unashamed. “Two consenting adults—”
“That phrase usually precedes fucking.”
“And what if it does?” The release of his words is swift, sharp. A knife unsheathed like he was waiting for me to piss him off. “I’m single. She’s single. You’re acting like we corrupted the kids in some way. You’re acting…”
Jealous.
He doesn’t finish it. He doesn’t have to. I’m not jealous. I’m just…hell. Thrown.
“I thought we agreed we’d discuss anyone we started dating being around the kids.” I hesitate. “I mean, is that what this is? You and Vashti are, what…dating?”
He huffs an exasperated breath, like I’m bothering him with these basic questions and have no right to know.
Do I have a right to know?
I’ve been Josiah’s friend, lover, business partner, the mother of his children, his wife. For the first time, I’m not sure where we stand. Where I stand with him. What I am to him.
“It’s really new,” he finally says. “We just clicked working so closely and started spending time together. And it’s not like the kids aren’t already around her all the time, so I didn’t feel the need to introduce her to them. They may have guessed, but I haven’t told them for sure.”
“But you will?”
Why am I holding my breath?
“Probably. We’ve hung out a few times.” He puts up a hand and shoots me a warning look. “And before you call me out on that, we said we’d give a heads-up for the sake of the kids. Not each other. I don’t have to tell you when I start dating someone, and I don’t want to know when…”
He does look away then. Drops his gaze to his expensive shoes.
“We’ve been divorced almost two years, Yas. We knew we’d move on. I honestly didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
Move on.
I’d just told myself it was good that we were moving on. And it is, but seeing him “moving on” in the house we built together, in the residue of the life we shared…I didn’t know it would affect me this way.
“It’s not a big deal.” I stand to fluff the cushion Vashti’s pert little ass was just seated on. “I guess I was caught off guard.”
“Like I said, I haven’t told the kids anything. Vashti’s around at work a lot. It was casual. She was finishing up as we were leaving, and I invited her along. I didn’t make a big deal of it, but I want to be honest with them.”
He bites his bottom lip, and a sudden, ill-timed memory of those perfectly full lips on me assaults my senses. Kissing the curve of my neck. Sucking my breasts. Sliding over my stomach and down, down, down.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
“I want to be honest with you,” he continues, completely oblivious to how my mind is flashback-fucking him. “Vashti’s great and, though it may ultimately go nowhere, we want to see where this leads.”
“What if it goes left? We could be out a chef. It took a long time to find her.”
“Like I need you reminding me how long it took to find a good chef.”
Funny how the words he doesn’t say can sting more than the ones he does.
He doesn’t have to say that when Byrd died I was in no shape to help, that he was the one at Grits from open to close. He wore all the hats—owner, manager, you name it—when I could barely hold up my head at all. Even now his eyes hold no accusation. Only memories that if we voice could shatter the tenuous peace we’ve managed to negotiate.
“Vashti and I did have that conversation,” he says. “We agreed to keep work separate as much as we can. She loves her job and she’s essential at Grits. Her cooking dug us out of the hole when Byrd passed.”
“Just be careful, Si, and not only because of work.” I gulp down hot emotion and force myself to keep speaking. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”