“But I meant what I said. All of it.”
“I know.” June caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Goodnight, Melissa.”
“Goodnight, June.”
Melissa left, her footsteps quiet on the stairs. June stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the evidence of their evening—wine glasses, empty plates, a pan of cooling brownies—and pressed her fingers to her lips.
She could still taste Melissa. Still feel the ghost of her hands in June’s hair, her body pressed close, her breath mingling with June’s.
This is going to be an adventure, she thought.
She hoped she wouldn’t regret it.
Chapter 11
The Ex and the Now
Melissa
Saturday, July 11th
The Redwood Hollow Country Club was the kind of place Melissa had learned to navigate two decades ago—all polished wood and muted lighting, the clink of crystal and the murmur of money talking to money. She moved through the charity gala in a flattering navy cocktail dress, her smile firmly in place, her handshake just the right length.
She hated every second of it.
Not the cause—children’s literacy, a foundation she genuinely believed in. Not even the networking, which was a necessary part of the job. What she hated was the performance of it. The constant awareness of being watched, evaluated, judged. The knowledge that every word she said would be remembered and potentially repeated.
Usually, she could compartmentalize. Push down the discomfort and focus on the work, on the connections being made, on the good that events like this actually accomplished.
Tonight, she couldn’t stop thinking about June.
Four days since the kiss. Four days of stolen moments after Lila went to bed—soft conversations at the kitchen island, lingering touches that made Melissa’s skin hum, kisses that started gentle and turned into something else entirely. Last night, June had pressed her against the pantry door and kissed her until Melissa’s knees actually went weak, which was a thing she’d thought only happened in novels.
Her phone buzzed against her clutch. She angled it just enough to read the notification.
June had sent a photo.
Lila, barefoot on the back porch in her pajamas, tilting her head back to look at the dark sky, one hand pointing at something out of frame. The caption read:She says she found a constellation shaped like an otter. I am not going to be the one to tell her that’s Orion.
Melissa pressed her lips together to keep from smiling in the middle of a conversation about zoning regulations.
She excused herself as quickly as she could, stepped to the edge of the room, and typed back:Tell her otters are much more impressive than hunters. She’s not wrong.
The reply was immediate: a single otter emoji, then a moon emoji, then:She asked when you’re coming home. I told her late. She said “that’s what she always says.” So just a heads up.
Melissa stared at the screen. Then typed:I’ll be home before midnight.
She was halfway to the bar when she saw him.
Michael Reeves looked mostly the same as he had two years ago—tall, the silver at his temples having spread further, wearing his charm like a well-tailored suit. He was laughing at something a woman beside him had said, his head thrown back in that performative way Melissa used to find attractive before she’d learned what it was actually hiding.
Their eyes met across the room.
His smile sharpened.
Melissa’s first instinct was to flee. To find an exit, a bathroom, another conversation to hide in. But she was a state senator, not a cornered animal, and she refused to let Michael see her run.
She stood her ground.
