Page 41 of The Work Wife

When Wes was gone she casually came back to sit at the table, drawing her leg underneath her as she’d done thousands of times over the years.

“How have you been feeling?” she asked, rolling her cup of coffee between her palms.

“Never better.” He flipped to the next page of the paper without looking up.

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but if he’d decided not to talk about it, she wouldn’t budge him without evidence. She’d make a point to scout out the medicine bottles when he wasn’t around.

“I like Weston,” he said, surprising her as much by what he said as by the change in the conversation.

“You do?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t touch you or kiss you very much that I’ve seen. And trust me, I don’t need to see that anyway. He doesn’t seem comfortable with that sort of thing, but I can tell he cares about you. Men don’t need to do all the fancy gestures to get their point across.”

“I know.” She didn’t realize her father knew that. But it made sense. He was one of those men who showed they cared in the small gestures rather than showy deeds. He’d never bought her a pony, but he made sure she got through college. He might not have thrown her a fancy sweet-sixteen birthday party, but he’d helped her buy a car and then shown her how to do simple maintenance on it so she wouldn’t be taken advantage of at the garage. He loved her, and told her every time they spoke.

“Maybe if I’d done less talking and more showing your mother how much I cared she might have stayed.” They didn’t talk about her mother often. But when they did, he often took the blame for their problems.

“Don’t blame yourself for my mother’s behavior. She couldn’t handle the life she chose. She knew you were a cop. She knew what that meant. If she wasn’t up for it, she shouldn’t have married you.”

“I’m glad she did. If for no other reason but that she gave me you.”

“I know I’ve been a handful over the years.”

Her father snorted at the understatement of the century.

“Thanks for not killing me for the stupid shit I did.”

“Like getting married to a stranger?”

“Weston has been my best friend for years. He’s not a stranger.”

“I guess not. He’s just a stranger to me. I’m probably going to owe him an apology at some point for treating him like a felon. I’m glad he makes you happy. The fact that you were friends makes a big difference.” He nodded and patted her head.

“I’ve gotten on his nerves at work, and I’m still here to tell the tale. I guess that’s a good sign.”

“He hadn’t seen you sleepwalk before.”

Jamie shrugged, not having an answer.

“You weren’t living together when you got married?” her father asked, watching her.

“No.” They still wouldn’t be living together.

Her father nodded. “I see.”

“What do you see?” she asked. Surely he wasn’t going to fault them for not living together before they were married.

“Nothing. Let’s go catch up with your husband for a walk on the beach.”

Her father was happy, and accepting her new marriage with a smile on his face. Maybe those pill bottles were full of antidepressants.

She’d have to wait to find out.

* * * *

Wes twitched when Jamie wrapped her body around his arm the way he’d seen women do on commercials for erectile dysfunction medications. Resting her chin on his biceps, she grinned up at him as if she was really a new bride happy to be walking on the beach with her new husband.

“Isn’t it nice to be somewhere warmer?” she asked.