Chapter 11
11
Conrad Strauss
I t’s been a week since I asked Whit to pretend to be my husband while my nana is in town.
A week since he told me he’d think about it.
An entire week of crickets.
At this point, I’m going to assume he won’t do it, and while I’m disappointed, I do get it. Whit is a good man. He cares about others, and doing the right thing is something he has always prided himself on. Asking him to do something like this was a huge ask, and I knew I ran the risk of him shutting me down. But that just goes to show how desperate I feel.
A knock sounds at my door as I’m rinsing a few dishes in the sink. “Come in,” I call out. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Turning off the water, I grab the tea towel from the counter and dry my hands, just as Will walks into the room. He’s dressed in a pair of slacks and a button down, more than likely coming straight from work.
“Hey.” I nod my chin at him as I throw the towel back onto the counter.
“How’s it going?”
“Not too bad.” Walking over to the fridge, I pull open the door. “Beer?”
“Sure, thanks.”
We take them outside on the porch. It’s chilly, but a nice evening. “So, what’s new with you?”
Will takes a long pull off his beer, wiping a hand over his mouth. “Ah, same old,” he murmurs.
“Still sneaking around with Colt?” A smirk tugs on my lips as he scowls at me. Recently, he admitted to me that he’s been sleeping with Colt Bishop, the son of our other best friend, Max. Max doesn’t know, and for some reason, the entire situation is beyond amusing to me. I honestly have no clue how Max is going to respond when he finds out. Out of the three of us, Max is the most hotheaded, so it could go either way.
“It’s not like that,” he grunts, then promptly takes another swig off the bottle.
“Oh, you told Max?” I tease. “He must’ve forgotten to tell me that when I saw him the other day.”
“No, we haven’t told him, but sneaking around sounds so juvenile,” he replies. “It’s more than that with us.”
Memories from when Whit and I first got together flit through my mind like a slideshow. There was a lot of sneaking around happening back then, too, so I get it. Our heart sometimes wants what it shouldn’t have, and we’re helpless to the feeling. From what little Will has told me, he and Colt happened a few years back as a drunken one-night stand. Seems like liquor and lust fueled the hookup, and it wasn’t until recently that it became more than that when Will moved back to Copper Lake.
It was different for Whit and me. Our connection was gradual, and it wasn’t always romantic. We met when he was a teenager, back when I saw him as such. He worked on this ranch for years before we ever became more, but once the transition happened, it felt like coming home. It felt a missing puzzle piece finally finding its place in my soul.
There were many people, my father included, who thought our relationship was wrong, in the very same way some people may think that about Colt and Will. There are dozens upon dozens of reasons why I love where I’m from. Why I love living in such a small, close-knit town. But for all those incredible reasons to love it, there’s also one downfall. When you come from such a small place, where everybody knows everyone, people tend to think they’re owed the right to an opinion on your life. And they’re not.
“Do you know what you’re going to do about Max yet?”
He shakes his head, looking out into the yard. “No. With the holidays coming up, it just doesn’t seem like the right time. We’ll probably wait until after.” Turning his gaze to meet mine, he asks, “Figured out what you’re going to do about your incoming visitor and the secret you’re keeping from her yet?”
Groaning, I scratch a hand along my jaw before diving into the predicament I’ve gotten myself into with Whit.
Will balks at me when I finish. “You did not ask him to do that,” he drawls.
“Oh, yes, I sure did.”
“You’ve lost your mind, man.”
I chuckle, even though none of this is funny. “That’s exactly what he said too.”
“So, what did he say?” he asks. “I’m assuming he told you to get lost.”
“Pretty much. At first, he straight up told me absolutely not,” I reply. “But by the end of the conversation, he told me he’d think about it. That was a week ago, though, so I’m guessing it’s going to be a no.”
“Shit.” Will blows out an exaggerated breath. “Can’t say that I blame him; it’s a big ask. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to have to tell her,” I mutter. “She’ll figure it out when she gets here anyway, and Whit’s stuff is nowhere to be found.”
“Man, I’m going to be honest,” he murmurs, fixing his gaze on me. “I really don’t understand why you never told her. I mean, I know you said you didn’t have the heart to do it when it happened because it was so close to your parents both passing, and I get that. But it’s been so long.”
It’s the same thing Whit said, and it’s a valid one. From the outside, I’m well aware this makes no sense. There’s been plenty of time to tell her, yet I haven’t.
“I don’t know, Will, okay? I don’t have an answer for why I never told her, other than I just didn’t.”
Quiet a moment, as if pondering his next words, he finally asks, “Do you still have feelings for him?”
My heart pounds like a wild drum. But the answer is instant. “Of course, I still have feelings for him.”
Will opens his mouth to respond before promptly shutting again, like he didn’t anticipate my response. “Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling like this should be common sense. “There has never been a time since we’ve been together that I didn’t love Whit. Why do you look so taken aback by this?”
“Well, have you met you?” he asks. “It’s not like you act like you’re in love with the guy.”
“Have you met me?” I throw his words back at him. “When have I ever acted in love?”
Will chuckles. “Okay, touché. But why haven’t you told him how you feel?”
“Because that time of my life has passed,” I say as coolly as I can manage, when in reality, the question makes my throat tighten. “We aren’t married anymore. I lost my chance.”
Brows pinched, he regards me for a moment. “But if you told him how you feel, the chance might not be lost.”
Looking out into the yard, I, not for the first time, imagine what it would be like if that were true. But it’s not. “It’s not that simple,” I say, my tone softening. “I hurt him a great deal when we were married, and he deserves more than me dropping that bomb on him. And besides, you’re forgetting that Whit has moved on.”
The sound of gravel kicking up pulls our attention toward my long driveway before Will has a chance to respond. For a split second, I let out a sigh of relief that the conversation is over. At least for now. But then I see who is coming up my driveway. We both watch as a truck comes into view.
Whit’s truck.
As if on cue, like speaking his name summoned him, he appears. Here, at my house.
“Did you know he was coming over?” Will asks, eyes trained on the truck that’s now parked beside his car.
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s eerie timing.” Will huffs out a laugh as Whit climbs out, eyes flitting from Will to me, unease sitting on his shoulders.
“Conrad, Will,” Whit murmurs as he approaches the porch. “Sorry for stopping by unannounced.” His eyes slice to mine.
Standing up, I shake my head. “That’s alright. Is everything okay?”
Will interjects as he stands too. “I’m going to take off. It was nice to see you, Whit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go. I can come back later.”
“Nonsense.” He waves him off. “It’s getting late anyways.”
Whit and I watch Will climb into his car and leave, the silence between us thick. “You can take a seat,” I tell him once Will’s car has disappeared down the gravel road. “Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” he says, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I just came here to tell you that I’ll do it.”
My body tenses as I take in his words. “You’ll do it?”
Nodding, Whit says, “Yes, but I have some ground rules.”
Leaning against the railing, I rub a hand over my mouth to hide my smirk because, of course , Whit has ground rules. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” I reply. “Please, have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.” He juts out his chin defiantly, and again, it’s work to not smile. We’re standing a few feet apart at most, and I can see the way he works his jaw. He’s nervous.
“Okay, fine. What are your rules?”
Whit presses his lips together as he reaches into the pocket of his heather gray cardigan, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper. I bite back the urge to give him shit for having a literal list written out, because I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over very well with him right now. His eyes scan the list for a moment before he clears his throat, gaze lifting to hold mine. But only for a moment.
“I will temporarily ”—he really emphasizes the word—“move in the weekend before she arrives. That way, we can make it look like I’ve actually been living here the whole time.”
My heart thunders, knowing he’s going to be in my house—our house—again.
“Okay, that’s fair,” I murmur, keeping my face void of any emotion so he can’t see how excited that makes me.
“But I will not be sleeping in your room until she gets here. There’s absolutely no reason for it until she’s in town; therefore, I will be sleeping in the guest room for the first couple of days.”
Whit’s gaze darts to mine again, narrow and hard, as if expecting me to argue with him. When he must realize I’m not going to, he nods before continuing.
“There will be no sex.” His chin juts out with that rule, but he won’t look at me.
“Well, I kind of figured,” I mutter, earning me a scowl from Whit. “There will need to be some sort of affection to make it believable, but I figured sex was off the table.”
Shoulders visibly tense, Whit pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. Something he does when he’s uncomfortable. “What… What kind of affection?”
“When we were married, we held hands or sat together on the couch, or kissed.” The more I throw out, the stiffer he becomes. “Little stuff that’ll make her believe we’re still together.”
“Conrad…”
“Are you saying I’m wrong? Were we not an affectionate couple?”
Pressing his lips together, he says nothing for a moment. “Conrad, this is stupid,” he finally blurts out. “She’s going to know.”
“She will not,” I reply. She won’t know because, if I have any say in the matter, it’s going to be very believable. “Any other rules?”
Eyes going back to the sheet of paper in his hands, he nods. “Two.”
“I’m listening.
“You tell her once she goes home.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, gaze flitting up nervously. “I don’t care what you say or how you do it, but you need to tell her that we’re getting a divorce. This can’t happen again, Conrad. This is a huge ask from you, and it’s not exactly easy for me to face having to live with you. I won’t do it a second time, I mean it.”
“Fair enough.” I nod. “I told you I’ll do that, and I will. And the last rule?”
His lip curls up slightly. “You’re in charge of the cooking.”
I can’t help it. My chest rumbles with a chuckle. Whit has always hated cooking. When we were married, I almost always made our food and, truthfully, I don’t mind. I always enjoyed cooking for us.
“Deal.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he nods resolutely, lip twitching. “Okay, then. It’s settled.”
“Is your little boyfriend as thrilled about this as you are?”
The scowl returns, deeper than ever. “His name is Reggie, you know that. And I will not be discussing him with you. Ever. New rule.”
“Okay, we won’t discuss Reggie. That’s fine by me.” Standing up, I level him with a look. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I was going to make some steak on the grill.”
Whit’s jaw clenches. “No, thank you. I need to be getting home.”
I nod, and a moment passes between us. Neither of us looks away or says anything, but I know we both feel it. It’s in the way Whit chews on the inside of his cheek. In the way his shoulders stay rigid. The way he holds my gaze even though I know he wants to look away because eye contact has never been easy for him, but he does it to appear unbothered. It’s in the way that, even after all these years, I still know Whit. I have the ability to read him, understand him, better than anybody. And as we stand here, unmoving and unspeaking, on my porch, I decide that I’m going to get him back.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I have to. As we gaze at one another, as I take in the fact that he’s going to be living with me again, suddenly getting him back seems like a tangible option. Something is still between us, and even if he denies it, I know it’s not one-sided.
I’m going to make him see that I’m different now. I’ve grown and changed from the man he left all those years ago. I’m going to make him see that the eternal love he once felt for me is still there. No matter how much time has passed, I have never stopped loving Whit. Never. And the way he melted into my arms for comfort last month, the way we so easily fell back into old routine that night, tells me that maybe he never stopped either.
I just need to make him see that.
And I will.