After a brief debate, I relent. "I promise."
"I'll have some canvases delivered next week," he adds.
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to." The intensity in his eyes makes me look away. There's something almost unbearable about the way he looks at me—like he can see straight through to parts of myself I've forgotten existed.
“How can I ever thank you?” I ask. “This is all too much.”
A slow smile spreads across his lips. “Well… there’s one thing.”
I cock a brow, highly intrigued. “What’s that?”
He smiles again. “Well… you always wear your hair up,” he points out. “I’d love to see it down.”
A strange warmth spreads across my cheeks, and I find myself studying the intricate bristles of the paintbrushes instead, running my fingertip along their delicate points. The promise of creating something beautiful with these feels exciting.
He wants to see me with my hair down. I suppose it’s not a huge request. The thought of wearing my hair down to please him excites me more than it should.
I’m breathless when I finally reply, “I’ll see what I can do.”
He smiles and his gaze lingers on mine for a beat too long.
I look up at the clock, feeling extremely ill-at-ease.
It’s that time again.
He leans in slowly and kisses my cheek. It's chaste, but he lingers, his scent wrapping me like a familiar memory. The warmth of his breath tickles my skin, sending tiny shivers down my neck.
I don't even check if Greg is watching from behind the bar. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I don't care who sees or what they might think. This moment feels separate from everything else, as if we've stepped outside of time completely.
It hits me then - I'm falling for him. Deeper and deeper with each moment we spend together. And I'm completely helpless to stop it, even knowing he could ruin everything. Like a moth to a flame, I'm my own worst enemy. The realization settles in my chest, heavy and undeniable. I've tried to rationalize these feelings away, pretending they were just physical attraction or fascination with someone so different from my world.
But standing here, with the ghost of his touch still warming my skin, I can't lie to myself anymore. This feeling has roots now, tangling around my heart with each smile, each conversation, each lingering look. What started as a playful game has become something that could shatter the life I've built with Reeves and Liam.
Yet I keep coming back, keep letting myself drift closer to the edge. Common sense screams at me to run,but some reckless part of me whispers that I deserve this feeling, this escape, this man.
I enjoy a sip of my mojito, letting the mint and lime wash over my tongue. The restaurant hums with quiet conversation and soft music, just loud enough to feel private without shouting. Reeves sits across from me, the flickering candlelight catching in his dark eyes.
It's rare for us to have a night out like this—just the two of us. His long hair is pulled back tonight, revealing the strong angles of his face that still make my heart skip after seven years together. I trace the condensation on my glass with my finger, savoring this moment of peace that feels so precious and fleeting in our chaotic lives.
"Remember when Liam knocked over that entire train display at the hobby shop?" he asks, chuckling. "The owner's face turned so red I thought he'd explode."
"How could I forget?" I smile, picturing our son's innocent face amid the wreckage. "I've never apologized so much in my life."
I should be fully present in this moment. It's our anniversary, after all. Seven years together and four years married. Yet Caine's face keeps flashing in my mind, unbidden and unwelcome.
When I slipped into this black dress earlier, I caughtmyself wondering if Caine would like it, imagining his hands sliding the silk from my shoulders. I'd pushed the thought away immediately, disgusted with myself for letting him invade even this sacred night with Reeves. But the guilt lingers, hovering over me like a storm cloud that refuses to break.
My husband deserves better than a wife whose thoughts are elsewhere while he's sitting across from her, completely unaware of her betrayal.
"Jessica's been such a lifesaver with Liam," Reeves says, pulling me back to reality. "I don't know what we'd do without her."
"She's amazing. Liam adores her too." I fiddle with my napkin, guilt gnawing at me. "The way she reads his favorite books with all the different voices."
Reeves reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. His palm is warm and familiar against mine.
"Jenny," he starts. “I want to apologize for how I've been acting about this whole Caine situation." His thumb traces circles on my wrist, sending familiar tingles up my arm. "I know we need the break on the rent, and I know you're doing this for us—for Liam. I've been unfair, acting jealous when you're the one making the sacrifice."
