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I had never really gone grocery shopping with Patty, but here I was, pushing the cart behind Becky, like she was the mother of my child.
Remember when I’d said I didn’t lie to myself? Truth was, this was an unhealthy habit that would end badly.
I’d told myself time and time again, as long as I didn’t cross that line, we’d be fine. But our late-night dates at the dinner table over water and the light brushes of our arms as we prepared the girls’ lunches every morning were barely walking that fine line.
I couldn’t help it. I craved it, this closeness with another human being that wasn’t simply sex, but something more, sweeter … intimate.
She placed a hand on my arm, getting my attention. That gentle gesture had me leaning toward her, taking in the intoxicating smell of her shampoo.
“Brown rice pasta is okay, right? That’s gluten-free.” She lifted the box toward me, quirking an eyebrow.
Mary grabbed it, already placing it in the cart. “Yep. I love pasta.”
I nodded, answering her question, “That’s fine, Becky.”
Her hand remained on my arm as we moved farther down the aisle. A stronger man would have moved away, but I’d learned that, with Becky, any self-control I had would continually get tested.
“You said we could get cookies.” Mary peered up at me with an evident pout and expectation in her eyes.
“It’s the next aisle over. A promise is a promise.” I touched the tip of her nose with my fingertip.
“But I want to go to that aisle now.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing out her pouting lip.
“Charles …”
I heard my name being called from a distance, but before I turned around, I already knew who that voice belonged to.
Vivian.
I turned and swallowed, watching her walk stealthily in her four-inch heels. She must have been coming from work because she was in a fitted black skirt suit.
My whole body stiffened as she approached.
The smile on her blood-red lips diminished as she took Becky in.
Becky pulled away from me, dropping her hand that she’d just had on my arm to her side.
“Hey.” Vivian’s voice oozed a sophistication few women had, bred from an elite family, learned and practiced at an Ivy League school.
“Hey, Vivian.”
She had called a few times, but I’d been ignoring her calls, and she never left messages.
It’d been almost a month since I’d seen her, and one thing I wasn’t lying to myself about was that I wasn’t interested in seeing her anymore. I should have broken up with her properly, but my mind had been preoccupied.
“It’s been a while,” Vivian said, her words laced with curiosity.
“Yeah. I’ve been—”
“Busy,” she finished my sentence, her eyes flickering toward Becky. “And you must be Miss Mary.”
She stepped toward the cart and ruffled Mary’s hair. In turn, Mary’s frown deepened.
“Mary, say hi,” I tried to coax her.
“Hi.” She turned her frown to me. “I want my cookies, Daddy.” She wiggled in the cart, patience running thin.
“And we will get them,” I answered her.
