I laugh. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. The kid's four. He doesn't remember what happened ten minutes ago. You know how boys are."
“Oh, yeah.”
Clara has a kid of her own, the sweetest boy you’llever meet, about Liam’s age. They’re playing quietly upstairs in Liam’s room.
“It’s so nice to be here,” she says. “It’s been too long.”
“I know, right?! Thank you, disgusting mice.”
She laughs. “A blessing in disguise, I guess.”
Clara owns a coffee shop and has a mouse problem. Exterminators are taking care of it as we speak. She closed shop for a week and decided to take advantage of her time off and visit little old me.
“Well, you never take a break, do you?” I tell her. “So now you were sort of forced to.”
“Look who’s talking… talk about the pot calling the kettle black.Younever take a break.”
I shoot her a tight smile. Yeah, we have a lot in common… we both have boys we adore, and we’re both broke as fuck, working our asses off in the service industry to make ends meet.”
“Still broke?” she teases.
I chuckle. “Yep. You?”
“Yep.”
"God, I needed this," I say, enjoying a long sip of red wine.
Clara refills my glass. "So, what's new? You look... different tonight."
I stroke Oscar's soft fur, gathering the courage to spill the tea. "I need to tell you something, but you have to promise it stays between us."
"Of course," she says, tucking her legs under her bum. "What's going on?"
The wine loosens my tongue. "Remember that guy I told you about, who started coming to the pool hall? Caine?"
I tell her everything—the arrangement, the rent money, the tension building between us. How he whispered in my ear, how he asked me to wear a skirt. My cheeks burn as I describe our last playdate. The way Caine's fingers traced the edge of the pool table, while his eyes never left mine. How my body responded to his voice, so smooth and controlled, when he leaned close and told me exactly what he wanted.
I fidget with my wine glass, unable to look Clara in the eye as I admit that part of me—a part I barely recognize—thrilled by his attention, by the dangerous game we're playing. The worst part is how alive I feel in those moments, how everything else—the bills, the stress, the weight of keeping our family afloat—seems to fade away when I'm with him.
"Jesus, Jenna," Clara's eyes widen. "This sounds... dangerous."
"I know." I press my wineglass to my forehead, feeling the cool surface against my hot skin. "It's like I'm on a runaway train. I know I should pull the brake, but part of me doesn't want to."
Clara leans forward. "Are you falling for him?"
"No," I say too quickly, then sigh. "I mean, he's surprisingly kind. Thoughtful even. But it's not love—it's just this intense... pull. I've never felt anything like it."
I trace the rim of my wineglass with my fingertip, struggling to put into words what Caine makes me feel. "It's like he sees parts of me that even I forgot were there. When I'm with him, I feel... I don't know, like I'm actually breathing for the first time in years. Does that make sense? But love? No. That would mean I've already crossed a line I can't come back from. And I have too much to lose."
"And Reeves knows about the arrangement, but not how you feel?"
I nod, shame washing over me. "I keep telling myself nothing's actually happened."
"Yet," Clara adds softly.
"Yet," I admit. "I don't trust myself around him."
Clara takes my hand, squeezing it with the kind of gentle pressure that says more than words ever could. Her dark brown eyes search mine, filled with equal parts concern and understanding.
