I step back. “We should finish.”
Something flickers across her face. Annoyance, maybe. Calculation? A mix of the two. “Of course.”
But I see it now. The careful mentions of Mable’s supposed fears. The positioning. The implication that she and I have some partnership Mable could never understand. Cordelia isn’t helping. She’s building a case, brick by brick. Trying to keep herself relevant in my life. She’s trying to sabotage Mable.
How dumb does she think I am? While Mable might be getting more comfortable with Cordelia, I have not. If anything, I’m paying closer attention to everything when it comes to her. I need to untangle this carefully. Without destroying both families.
But if it comes to that, then so be it. All my life I have given and given. Everything planned out for me from the moment I was born. This, however, Mable, is not something I will concede.
“I have to go.” I’m already grabbing my phone, shoving papers into my bag, not caring about order. I’ll figure it out later.
“Caldwell, we haven’t finished the?—”
“It can wait.” I’m at the door, hand on the handle, not looking back. “Send me your notes. I’ll review them tomorrow.”
“Caldwell.” Her voice changes. “Is everything all right?”
I pause, turning enough to see her face, composed, concerned.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to see my wife.”
I saidwife, notMable, nother, deliberately, wanting it to land and sink in. The role Cordelia keeps implying might not last.
Her expression doesn’t flicker. “Give her my best.”
I don’t respond. I’m already gone.
The drive home is too long. I can’t stop wondering where Mable will be so I can go straight to her. In the kitchen probably, or the library, or wherever she’s made herself comfortable without realizing she’s made a home.
When I finally pull through the gates, I’m out of the car before the driver can fully stop.
“Where is she?” I ask one of the guards stationed at the front entrance door.
“The kitchen.” He confirms what I thought. I hurry toward it and then force myself to slow, to breathe, so I don’t burst in like some madman.
She turns, flour on her cheek, the smell of something warming in the oven, cinnamon. My favorite. Mable gives me a bright smile. I’ll never get used to the way her face lights up when she sees me; it truly does make me feel like a king.
“You’re early,” she says.
“I needed to see you.”
Her smile falters slightly. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing.” I make my way over to her and pull her in, then bury my face in her hair. She smells of vanilla and home. That panic that’s been holding me tightly starts to loosen its grip. “Nothing’s wrong. I just missed you.”
She laughs softly. “You saw me this morning.”
“Too long ago.”
Her hand slides up my chest and then around my neck, her body flush to me. She’s here, and Cordelia’s words dissolve into nothing.
“I made cookies,” she whispers against my neck.
“I don’t care about cookies.” I pull back enough to see her face, searching it. Is she leaving? Is she overwhelmed? Is she performing for me too?
She blinks, confused by my intensity. “Caldwell?”
I kiss her. Hard. Desperate. Needing to feel her respond to me, to know she’s still mine, still choosing this, still wanting me despite everything she should run from.
