Chapter Eighteen
Two weeks later, everything was exactly the same as it always had been. I worked weekdays at the bookstore, and every night and weekend belonged to Cam. Except, of course, for Thursdays.
One Thursday, Rachel and I went to a club downtown; the next, I caught another movie with Nate.
Afterward, we ducked into a different bar.
Nate had a knack for steering clear of Joe’s, which I figured had plenty to do with Tony, but I didn’t press.
The unspoken rules between us were easy: we drank, danced, and I made it home just after Cam did.
He’d always assume it was “girls’ night with Rachel,” and I never corrected him.
It was just an omission—a light touch of deceit—but after the mess at the lake with Jake, I doubted he needed to know I was spending Thursday nights with Nate.
Cam could have won awards for hypocrisy, but that was just the way he was.
He came into the kitchen just as I was pulling out a tray of blueberry muffins, the smell filling up all the empty corners of our little house.
“You’re becoming a regular little Betty Crocker, aren’t you, baby?” he said, flashing that familiar, lazy smile.
“Oh, hush. I actually like doing it.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and I leaned into him, plucking muffins from the tin and dropping them in a basket.
“I made these from scratch,” I announced, letting myself be proud for a second.
“I’m glad you’ve found something to do with your time,” he said. “I never like the thought of you being bored at home. Maybe you could take a baking class? Thursday nights, maybe. If Rachel’s not free, it would give you something else to look forward to.”
It was the way he said it, so casual, like Thursday nights were already written off the books.
As if this would just keep on as it had been.
I went cold. He wasn’t making changes; he wasn’t even pretending.
All the disgust I had for myself washed up, thick and sour.
He had managed to have his cake and eat it, too.
“Maybe,” I said, my voice flat, my hands robotic as I set a mug on the counter.
He poured a cup of coffee. “I have to go on a business trip this weekend,” he said, not looking at me.
My head snapped up. “On a weekend?”
He hadn’t traveled in a while—but even when he had, it was never weekends. My mind flashed to him in some hotel suite with another woman, the firelight from the cabin, passion in places I couldn’t see.
He must’ve seen it on my face, because he shook his head with a little frown. “No, baby, don’t do that. It’s work, I swear. Some big shots we merged with want a weekend in Las Vegas for some gambling.”
I just held his gaze.
“You can gamble any time,” I pointed out.
“One of the guys has a nephew eloping Sunday. He wants to be at the wedding, so everyone agreed to meet for dinner at their casino Saturday night. The wedding is the next morning, then plenty of time for everything else. I’m leaving Friday, right after work.”
“You’re not going for a bachelor party or anything?” I asked.
He laughed, a tired, dismissive sound. “No, I don’t even know the nephew. Anyway, you know I wouldn’t do anything outside our box. I promised. You have to trust me.”
I wanted to. But I remembered the texting. “You were texting outside the box,” I reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “You never set a rule about that. Still, it was wrong, especially with you sitting right there. I stopped, and I stopped seeing her, just like you wanted.”
He reached out, his palm warm on my cheek. “I’m doing what I can to make this work for you.”
“Everything except stopping,” I said, staring at him.
He dropped his hand, his face stormy. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Like what?” I demanded. “Like a woman who wants her husband to herself? That’s not exactly rare, Cam!”
He grabbed his coat and keys, the front door slamming after him with a sharp crack.
I gathered up the muffins and followed suit, relieved by the excuse to leave.
Nate was already behind the counter at the bookstore when I walked in.
“Are those for me?” he said, nodding at the basket.
“And Mr. Porter,” I replied, setting it down.
Nate immediately took one and bit into it, muffin crumbs everywhere. “Pops is out today,” he managed to say, still chewing.
“Again?” I leaned on the counter. It didn’t seem like Mr. Porter to bail so much. “He still not feeling well?”
Nate shook his head. “He’s finally at the doctor getting checked out. They’re doing some tests, trying to figure out what’s wrong.”
“That’s good,” I said, genuinely relieved. “I hope they find something they can help with. I feel bad for him.”
“Me too. He’s stubborn—it’s taken forever to get him to go. I’ve always been close to him.” Nate picked at the counter with a rag I’d used yesterday.
“You have?” I said, watching him. “More than your own dad?”
He nodded, eyes on the rag. “Yeah. He practically raised me. My real dad was… well, not around.”
“Was? Did he pass away?” I asked, then immediately second-guessed myself. “Sorry if that’s rude.”
“It’s fine.” He said it casually. “My mom’s gone, but Dad’s in prison. I said ‘was’ because I don’t think of him as my dad anymore.”
“Would it be too much to ask why?”
He glanced at me, unreadable, then shrugged. “Murder.”
I stared, my mind drawing a blank. I wanted to ask a thousand things, but the air went tight and before I could form any words the door opened and a group of energetic ladies came in, talking over each other about a local author we were about to do an event for.
Nate headed off to help them and I was left to roll the word “murder” around in my brain, stunned.
This had to be the thing Jackson had told Rachel about.
Poor Nate. It made sense, in a way, that he’d be so easygoing and open; maybe he’d spent a lifetime running from a shadow he wouldn’t talk about.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur of cash register math and online book orders. Mr. Porter had once asked Nate to teach me how to make orders and handle the accounting. I’d been honored—and nervous—that he trusted me with it.
Nate kept to his side of things, cycling between cleaning and making drinks behind the bar.
By lunch I’d almost convinced myself to forget about my fight with Cam. He was meeting me at my favorite bistro, and our meal was easy, ending with a kiss that lingered long after he walked away. I didn’t let myself think about Thursday night or what he would be doing.
Back at the shop, there was a giant, beautifully wrapped box sitting on the back counter.
“What’s this?” I asked. “Is there a staff birthday I forgot about?”
“Just you,” Nate said from behind me.
I frowned. “Huh?”
He grinned, sheepish. “You never said a word about your birthday.”
I shrugged. “I’m a little old for making a fuss. How did you know?”
He explained he’d found my file in the office while organizing. “It’s for you,” he said, pointing to the box.
I laughed. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“Don’t ruin it for me, Livi. I wanted to. It’s what friends do.”
I just shook my head and started opening the wrapping, careful with the corners. Nate was precise about everything; I’d bet good money he’d wrapped it himself.
Inside was a sleek, professional espresso machine—the kind that could make anything from a simple cup to espresso or a frothy latte.
“Since you’re basically a pro with ours here, and you love coffee—you should have one at home,” he explained.
I hugged him before my brain caught up, the whole thing so thoughtful. I’d told Nate months before I wanted one, but I’d sworn off spending so much. I needed to keep saving my secret money.
“I love it. Thank you. But you really shouldn’t have spent this much.”
“I did it because I wanted to—and you deserve the best.”
His face was close to mine. His eyes were intent, and in that moment, I wondered what it would be like to be his. Not for the nice gifts, but for the certainty that I would be enough. The only one. No Thursday girls, no secret texts.
He kissed me, and I let him. There was no thinking, only heat and the hum of electricity that ran right through me. We kissed, breathless, until the bell above the shop door jingled.
Nate grinned, his voice low. “You’re welcome. I’ll go help our customer.”
He left me stunned, pressed back against the shelving, my lips still tingling. Guilt hovered at the edge of my mind, but it didn’t really take hold.
I hadn’t actually cheated—not the way Cam did. It was Thursday, and Thursday was my night off the leash. Even so, I knew Cam would never see it that way.
But what did I want? I loved Cam, but with Nate I was starting to feel things I shouldn’t. He gave me something Cam had stopped giving a long time ago.
The feeling that I was enough.
∞∞∞
“Why would this be weird?” Rachel’s voice boomed through my phone. “It’s just the four of us. Friends. Thursday night.”
“But you and Jackson are going as a couple,” I argued. “I don’t want to give Nate the wrong impression.”
She snorted. “I think it’s the right impression!
Hang on.” She rattled off an order to some barista, somewhere.
Rachel never went anywhere without caffeine.
Jackson had apparently heard that Nate wanted me over on Thursday, but had a new Xbox game to show off.
The solution was apparently: bring Rachel, let the boys game, and let us hang out together.
She came back on the line, chipper. “Okay, where were we?”
“We kissed again,” I blurted.
She squealed loud enough that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
“You and Nate? When?”
“Today. After lunch with Cam. He gave me my birthday present and I just… went with it.”
“You should go with it more often.”
“You’re not helping!”
She laughed. “I am! Cam’s out tonight, right?”
“As far as I know.”
“So? You have every right! It’s in the rules.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
She just laughed, “See you tonight?”
“I’ll be there,” I said, and we hung up.
I barely went home before getting in the tub, the air thick with the scent of sweet pea. I’d loved that smell since I was little; it softened everything, even my nerves.
My phone pinged.
Jackson said you and Rachel are both on for tonight?
Sure thing.
I can’t wait. I’m going to order take out for everybody. Is Thai okay?
Sounds good to me. Thanks again for my new coffee machine. I’ve already christened it.
I sent a picture of the first latte I’d made. He replied right away, drooling emoji and all.
That looks fabulous! So glad you like your gift. You’re very welcome.
For a while, I just soaked in the quiet, staring at my knees poking out from the bubbles. Then my phone dinged again.
So, what are you up to?
I smiled, feeling like a high-schooler with a crush. I hesitated, then did something impulsive: I snapped a picture of my bare thighs half-hidden under the bath bubbles. Sent it before I could talk myself out of it.
Immediately regretted it, but the damage was done.
Minutes passed. I started to worry I’d crossed a line, but then—
Sorry about that. I had to run to the bathroom and take care of something really quick.
I almost laughed aloud, picturing him, the look on his face. It wasn’t even risqué, not compared to what Cam probably had coming into his phone. But it meant something, and for once I didn’t feel guilty. Nate would appreciate it.
It was Thursday, after all.
I finished my bath, changed into jeans and a cute, strappy top, then headed out.
Nate lived just minutes from the bookstore. When I pulled up, Rachel and Jackson were already there, climbing out of their car. We all headed for the elevator together, Jackson hitting the button, trapping us in that little metal box.
Rachel barely waited for the doors to close. "About that kiss.”
My eyes darted to Jackson, embarrassed.
“He knows,” Rachel said. “We have no secrets.”
I huffed. “Not telling my business isn’t the same as lying.”
Jackson just shrugged. “I know about the open marriage. If a man’s dumb enough to risk what he’s got, then he deserves to lose you. I think you and Nate would be good together.”
“What about his past?” I tried. I needed to know he was stable. I didn’t want another man who would break me.
Rachel looked at Jackson, then at me. “Bestie code. I had to tell her.”
Jackson’s voice dropped. “Nate’s done really well since he got help. You could be exactly what he needs.”
“What kind of wrong track was he on?” I asked.
Before anyone could answer, the elevator doors slid open.
Nate was waiting on the other side, that dimpled smile impossible to ignore. I felt my heart stumble a little.
“Hey, guys. Food just got here—it’s still hot.”
Jackson clapped his shoulder. “Perfect. I’m starving.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “You just ate at my place.”
“I’m a growing man,” he shot back.
Rachel and I both said it, in perfect unison: “Men.”