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“This sounds serious. Let me pour you some coffee.”
Is this man perfect, or have I been so tainted by a bad first marriage that I don’t know what normal gestures of kindness are anymore?
We settle onto the leather sofa with coffee mugs in hand. He has a superhero dad mug the kids got him for his last birthday, and I have a mug he found from the back of the cabinet that I’ve had forever. My dad gave it to me so long ago he still knew who I was then. I don’t want to risk it breaking, which is why I almost never use it anymore.
“Tell me about your day.” Peter looks at me with interest. There isn’t a hint of judgment in his eyes.
It helps me to relax somewhat, as does the warm drink. I take a deep breath, sip the strong coffee, and tell him all about Sylvia and the terrible scene she caused. “I don’t think I can ever show my face in the coffee shop again.”
He sets down his mug and rubs my shoulders. “I’m sure everyone will have forgotten about it by tomorrow. It’s a small town, and people are hungry for new gossip.”
“You didn’t see the way people were looking at me. She kept saying I’m bulimic!” Hot, angry tears blur my vision. I try to blink them away, but they only fall onto my face.
Peter kisses them away. “Everyone knows she’s a hothead. She’s probably started half the rumors that go around.”
I can’t argue that, but at the same time, I don’t ever want to see anyone in the coffee shop ever again. Except for Megan. She’s the only one who knows better.
Peter looks at his phone. “What time do you need to pick up the kids from preschool?”
“Soon. I was going to wash my face when I got home, but then I got distracted when you were here.”
“I’ll get them. Why don’t you take a bubble bath or a nap? I could pour you a glass of wine.”
I think I really did marry the perfect man.
“That sounds amazing.” I grab a tissue and blow my nose. “But they also have gymnastics this afternoon.”
“Perfect. I’ll take them. How often do I get to pick them up or watch them in the gym? Maybe I can even take them out for ice cream cones—if you don’t think it’ll ruin their dinners.”
I stare at the man I married for a moment, hardly able to believe this is really my life. “If you’re going to do all that, go ahead and ruin their dinners. It’s only one night, and I’m sure they’re going to be thrilled to see you at pickup.”
He leans over and gives me a toe-curling kiss. “Do you think I have time to start a bath for you? If you want one.”
I glance at the time. “You’d better get going so we aren’t charged a late fee by the preschool.”
“Then I’ll at least pour you some wine.” Peter squeezes my hand and goes into the kitchen.
How did I ever get so lucky?
ChapterEight
It takes me a few moments to figure out what’s going on when I wake from my nap. At first I think I forgot to pick up Owen and Sophie from preschool. But the lingering taste of wine fills in the blanks. Peter picked them up, took them to gymnastics, then treated them to ice cream.
What about Nadia and Dakota? Was I supposed to pick them up? No. Nadia has a study group after Tae Kwon Do, and Dakota’s cheering at a football game. Then she’s going to spend the next seven days at Lyra’s house. At least she has a schedule with her parents—Thursday to Thursday. And if anything comes up where one parent wants to switch a day or two, they work it out.
I wish it was that easy with Bryant. It’s literally impossible for me to have a calm discussion with him about Nadia. Or anything, really. He demands his own way, uses name-calling and guilt trips, and gaslights me like it’s a fun game. I hate that my girl doesn’t see her dad often, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad about not having to deal with him more than a few times a month. Even that much is enough to skyrocket my blood pressure for days.
Peter has offered multiple times to deal with Bryant so I don’t have to, but the last time he attempted that it almost ended up in a fistfight. Now I talk to my ex when Peter isn’t around. He’s too protective of me, and Bryant would love nothing more than to see my successful husband punch him. Bryant would file charges, and Peter’s solid reputation would be soiled.
I refuse to let that happen. My ex has stolen enough from me, I won’t let him do anything to Peter. I protect all my children and my husband from Bryant as much as I can. They don’t deserve to deal with his abuses just because I made the mistake of falling for a narcissist when I was young and didn’t know better. There isn’t much I can do about Nadia going to his house, but at least it isn’t often, and she tells me Trixie acts as a buffer when he’s in a mood.
My stomach sinks at the thought of Trixie. Chelsea claimed to have seen me at her nail salon.
That’s not one, but now two, people seeing me somewhere I wasn’t. There’s no way I’d ever step foot into Runway Nails, and while I have nothing against anyone at the Cake Shack, I certainly wasn’t there gorging myself.
There has to be an explanation. It was easy to brush off Chelsea’s fake sighting because that was so obviously not me. But now a second incident in the same week? Something fishy is going on.
Or maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this. It could be something easy to explain.
