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“How many mafia romance books are you currently reading?” I smirk at her.
“That’s not even relevant.” She rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed with us. “I’m not here to be judged. I’m here for you. So spill.”
They follow me into the kitchen to grab glasses and ice for the whiskey they brought, and we sit around my kitchen island. Pouring a hefty portion, I lift the glass to my lips, taking several swigs before I describe the events of the day. While I find their shocked expressions amusing, it doesn’t overshadow the confusion I have at what unfolded this afternoon.
After several moments of silence while they digest what I’ve shared with them, Kat speaks first.
“Babes, I will never forgive Andy for how he’s treated you in doing this. However, you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t give him a chance to try to fix it.” Her features soften as she speaks.
“I don’t like it, but Pickle is right,” Ryan says as she raises the glass of whiskey to her mouth, letting out a soft moan of appreciation as the dark liquid passes her lips.
I lift my nearly-empty glass from the table, taking a sip before I let out a groan. “You’re both right, and I hate it. I wasn’t supposed to care for Connor like this.”
With a sympathetic nod of encouragement from both of my friends, I pick up my phone and tap out a response to Andy’s previous message.
Hadley:
We can go to dinner on Friday. I’m not happy with our situation right now, but the only way for us to try to fix it is to actually spend time together.
Andy:
Thank you for giving us a chance. I love you, Had.
I don’t respond to his text. I do love him, but I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.
As I press my hand to my chest, my heart aches and my insides are twisted up like vines. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than whiskey to numb the emotions swirling around inside me.
Connor and I have been speaking every day and have spent most evenings together since we found out Andy was one of his employees. Thankfully, Andy hasn’t gone to HR or caused any issues after the confrontation in Connor’s office.
Now that Friday has finally arrived and I know I’m not going to see him at any point today, I feel the anxiety building. Unease fills my chest, not only because I’m not going to see Connor, but because Iamgoing to see Andy. His texts have been sporadic at best over the past week, but more than he’s sent since this all started.
I do want our marriage to work. I just don’t know what that looks like for me now.
I spend an entire hour picking out clothes, and my bedroom floor looks like a tornado hit by the time I decide on a simple teal scoop-neck midi dress. It’s form-fitting, showing off the soft curves I’ve finally gotten back, and has me feeling like my old self again. I pair the dress with my black leather boots, giving me an extra three inches. My hair is styled in loose waves, lying across my shoulders and down my back.
After a total of two and a half hours since I started the process, I swipe my lashes with one last coat of mascara, and I’m finally ready.
I’m in the kitchen, having a glass of wine to calm my nerves, when the front door opens at exactly seven p.m. Not used to having anyone just walk in, it startles me, and I scream.
Andy comes running in the room.
“Are you okay?” Concern is etched across his face.
“Oh, God. You scared the shit out of me.” I feel my face heating, my hand on my chest. “I’m not used to anyone just walking in anymore. Not that you shouldn’t be able to just walk into your own house.”
Shaking his head, he smiles at me. He takes a hesitant step forward and wraps his arms around me in an awkward hug. He pulls back enough to tuck a strand of my long hair behind my ear, leaning in to press a sweet kiss against my lips.
My mind is whirling. I don’t know what I expected to happen tonight, but if the rest of the evening continues this way, it’s going to be a good night.
We chat for a little bit while he catches me up about work and I tell him about my substituting position. He seems happy that I decided to go back to work. He doesn’t bring up Connor, and I’m hesitant to bring up Naomi. When the clock marks seven-thirty p.m., we head out toward our cars. I had intended to drive myself. Considering he hasn’t been staying at our house for so long, I don’t expect him to tonight.
When I pull my keys out of my purse, Andy gently grips my wrist. “Don’t be silly, Had. I’ll drive.”
I just nod, not quite sure what to say. Does this mean he’s going to stay with me tonight?
Unsure how I feel about the thought, I walk toward the passenger side of his sedan and let myself in. It smells strongly of lavender, and looking around, I see evidence of Naomi all over: ponytail holders, a jacket, a floral gym bag.
My stomach lurches, acid crawling up my throat. He’s been playing house with this woman.
