Chapter 13 #2
"Oh, Reeves’s not a fan, and he says we have enough responsibility on our plates."
"Liam would love one too," she points out. "He gushes over Oscar every time he sees him.”
"I know," My heart sinks a little. "He's asked for one last Christmas, and on his last birthday. I bought him a stuffed purring one, but it didn't really fly. I could tell he was disappointed. It broke my heart."
"That is the saddest thing I've ever heard."
I laugh. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. The kid's four. He doesn't remember what happened ten minutes ago. You know how boys are."
“Oh, yeah.”
Clara has a kid of her own, the sweetest boy you’ll ever meet, about Liam’s age. They’re playing quietly upstairs in Liam’s room.
“It’s so nice to be here,” she says. “It’s been too long.”
“I know, right?! Thank you, disgusting mice.”
She laughs. “A blessing in disguise, I guess.”
Clara owns a coffee shop and has a mouse problem. Exterminators are taking care of it as we speak. She closed shop for a week and decided to take advantage of her time off and visit little old me.
“Well, you never take a break, do you?” I tell her. “So now you were sort of forced to.”
“Look who’s talking… talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You never take a break.”
I shoot her a tight smile. Yeah, we have a lot in common… we both have boys we adore, and we’re both broke as fuck, working our asses off in the service industry to make ends meet.”
“Still broke?” she teases.
I chuckle. “Yep. You?”
“Yep.”
"God, I needed this," I say, enjoying a long sip of red wine.
Clara refills my glass. "So, what's new? You look... different tonight."
I stroke Oscar's soft fur, gathering the courage to spill the tea. "I need to tell you something, but you have to promise it stays between us."
"Of course," she says, tucking her legs under her bum. "What's going on?"
The wine loosens my tongue. "Remember that guy I told you about, who started coming to the pool hall? Caine?"
I tell her everything—the arrangement, the rent money, the tension building between us.
How he whispered in my ear, how he asked me to wear a skirt.
My cheeks burn as I describe our last playdate.
The way Caine's fingers traced the edge of the pool table, while his eyes never left mine.
How my body responded to his voice, so smooth and controlled, when he leaned close and told me exactly what he wanted.
I fidget with my wine glass, unable to look Clara in the eye as I admit that part of me—a part I barely recognize—thrilled by his attention, by the dangerous game we're playing.
The worst part is how alive I feel in those moments, how everything else—the bills, the stress, the weight of keeping our family afloat—seems to fade away when I'm with him.
"Jesus, Jenna," Clara's eyes widen. "This sounds... dangerous."
"I know." I press my wineglass to my forehead, feeling the cool surface against my hot skin. "It's like I'm on a runaway train. I know I should pull the brake, but part of me doesn't want to."
Clara leans forward. "Are you falling for him?"
"No," I say too quickly, then sigh. "I mean, he's surprisingly kind. Thoughtful even. But it's not love—it's just this intense... pull. I've never felt anything like it."
I trace the rim of my wineglass with my fingertip, struggling to put into words what Caine makes me feel.
"It's like he sees parts of me that even I forgot were there.
When I'm with him, I feel... I don't know, like I'm actually breathing for the first time in years.
Does that make sense? But love? No. That would mean I've already crossed a line I can't come back from. And I have too much to lose."
"And Reeves knows about the arrangement, but not how you feel?"
I nod, shame washing over me. "I keep telling myself nothing's actually happened."
"Yet," Clara adds softly.
"Yet," I admit. "I don't trust myself around him."
Clara takes my hand, squeezing it with the kind of gentle pressure that says more than words ever could. Her dark brown eyes search mine, filled with equal parts concern and understanding.
"Text me if you're about to do something stupid. Seriously." She pauses, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Day or night. Doesn't matter if I'm sleeping or working. One text and I'll talk you off whatever ledge you're standing on."
We both laugh, but her eyes stay serious.
"I mean it," she says, her voice dropping to that earnest tone she only uses when she's dead serious.
"Promise me you won't do anything crazy.
You and Reeves have built something beautiful.
Liam needs both of you." Her fingers tighten around mine, and I can see the genuine worry etched across her face, the slight furrow between her brows that appears whenever she's concerned about me.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest. She's right, of course.
Everything Reeves and I built over seven years—our little yellow house, our struggling pool hall, our family—it all hangs in a delicate balance.
And Liam, with his sweet smile, deserves better than a mother who's contemplating throwing it all away over a man who makes her feel things she shouldn't.
I squeeze her hand back. "I promise."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I wonder if it's a promise I can keep. The thought settles like a stone in my stomach, heavy with the weight of possibility.
Caine's face flashes in my mind—those gorgeous eyes of his, the way his voice slows when he speaks directly to me.
It's terrifying how easily he's slipped beneath my defences, creating cracks in the foundation of everything I've built with Reeves—all of it feels both precious and precarious in this moment, balanced on the edge of this insane attraction I feel for this man I barely know.