Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
KAT
My heart pounds as I pull into the driveway of Sarah and Quentin’s house. It’s exactly what I expected—a classic Chicago two-story with a neat front yard and small, welcoming porch. A perfectly nice home for a happy family. All it’s missing is the white picket fence.
It hits me then how different their lives have been from mine. While they were raising two kids and having the quintessential family life, I was traipsing around the country and avoiding putting down roots.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Sarah: “ Stuck in traffic. Be there in about 20 mins. Sorry! Quentin's there though .”
Great. This won’t be awkward at all.
I consider turning around and getting right back in my car, but before I can act on that impulse, the front door opens. Quentin stands there in jeans and a black t-shirt wearing a wide, genuine smile.
“Hey,” he says. “Sarah just texted me that she's running late. Come on in.”
Well, no turning back now.
I follow him inside, taking in the tastefully decorated living room. Family photos line the walls, and I can’t help but feel like a bit of an outsider, even though I know in reality that they wouldn’t have invited me if they didn’t want me here. When I had gotten Sarah’s text a couple days after our night together at the club, I had been simultaneously elated and terrified.
The likelihood of this working out long-term isn’t high, but the tiny spark of hope that it might is enough to risk the odds.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Quentin asks, leading me into the kitchen. “We've got wine, beer, or I can make you a cocktail.”
“Wine would be great, thanks.”
He leads me to the kitchen, which is modern and spotless. I perch on one of the barstools at the island while he opens a bottle of red and pours us each a glass. The silence stretches between us, neither of us knowing what to say.
“Well,” he says, sliding a glass toward me, “This is a bit awkward.”
I laugh. At least he’s direct. “Just a bit.”
Quentin leans against the counter opposite me, and I can’t help but admire his constant sense of effortless charm. “You know, Sarah's told me a lot about your college days, but I feel like I barely know you.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
He asks some surface-level questions about my work and travels until there’s a beat of silence again.
Finally, he asks, “What made you come back to Chicago after all these years?”
It's a loaded question, one I'm not sure I want to answer fully. But if I want this to work out, I know I need to be honest.
“I was tired,” I admit. “Moving around and getting to explore was a lot of fun, but it’s hard to feel like nowhere is really home. And even though I hadn’t been here in a long time, Chicago has always felt like the place I belong. I missed the place… and the people.”
“Did you expect to reconnect with Sarah at all?” His tone only holds curiosity, no judgment or accusation.
“Not actively. I didn't come back expecting to find her, or for any of this to happen. But I'd be lying if I said she wasn't part of why Chicago always felt like home.”
Quentin takes a sip of his wine. “Well, I will say that this is new territory for us. But we’re very big on open and honest communication, and she’s told me a lot about how she feels about you.”
“And what about you?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“What about me?”
“Are you content to let Sarah explore this on her own? Do you want to be involved?” I lean forward slightly. “Situations like this are always temperamental, so I want to be clear on what both of you expect out of this.” I don’t mention the fact that the three of us being in a sexual situation together, even if he and I didn’t touch once, has had my imagination going into overdrive.
He looks taken aback, like he hadn't considered that possibility. “I… hadn't really thought of that as an option," he admits. "I'm not sure how Sarah would feel about all three of us together.”
I let my eyes drift over him, taking in his broad shoulders, the way his t-shirt clings to his chest. “Would you want to be involved if it were something she was interested in?”
“Would you want me to be?”
I smile. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“I guess I am,” he chuckles. “I just want what would make Sarah happy.”
Guess it’s up to me to make the first move here, then. “Well, if she’s into it, then I surely wouldn't mind all three of us getting involved. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed that first night when I saw your wedding ring, but now…”
The air between us shifts. I’ve just opened a door that I probably should’ve kept closed, but while my feelings for Sarah are much deeper, I also can’t deny my growing attraction to Quentin. Before either of us can say anything more, we hear the front door open.
Sarah calls out. “I’m so sorry I'm late!”
Quentin and I share a look, one that acknowledges what just passed between us while silently agreeing to keep it between ourselves for now, just before Sarah bustles into the kitchen.
“Traffic was awful,” she says, oblivious to the thick tension in the room as she drops her purse on the counter. “I hope you two weren't too bored without me.”
If she only knew.
Guilt and excitement war in my stomach as I watch her lean up to kiss Quentin hello. I shouldn't feel this thrill when his eyes meet mine over Sarah's shoulder.
“We managed to keep ourselves entertained,” Quentin says.
Sarah grins, looking between us. “Well, I'm glad you two are getting along.”
She moves to pour herself a glass of wine, and I can't help but notice how beautiful she looks, even frazzled from being in traffic. Her short blonde hair is slightly mussed, like she's been running her fingers through it in frustration, and her fitted t-shirt hugs her petite curves in all the right ways.
“So,” Sarah says, settling onto the barstool next to me, “what were you two talking about?”
“Just getting to know each other,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Your husband's quite the conversationalist.”
Quentin catches my eye again, and the ghost of our earlier flirtation passes between us. “Kat's pretty interesting herself,” he says.
And just like that, we fall into easy conversation, the three of us sharing stories and laughing together. But there's an undercurrent now of tension that wasn't there before. Every time Quentin's hand brushes mine as he refills my wine glass, every time our eyes meet across the kitchen island, I feel it.
Sarah seems happy, watching us interact with a soft smile on her face. She has no idea that while she was stuck in traffic, her husband and I were dancing around the possibility of something more, something that includes all three of us. And maybe I shouldn’t assume, but I don’t think she’d mind. I have a feeling that the idea of all three of us being together would be something she’d love.
I’ll have to talk to her about it later, though Quentin may beat me to it.
So I stay quiet for now, sipping my wine and trying to focus on the present moment. On the way Sarah's knee presses against mine under the counter, on the sound of her laughter at Quentin's jokes, on the warmth of their home and their company, on the way I don’t feel like so much of an outsider here anymore.
“Well,” Sarah says once there’s a lull of silence. “Shall we begin the festivities?”