23. Adair
Adair
Of course he looks annoyingly good. Like some brooding coastal drama lead jogging into my emotional crisis with wind-tousled hair and that steady and infuriating focus.
Figures.
Parker is standing on the shoreline, the ocean barely catching the toes of his shoes. The almost completely set sun highlights him in gold.
It’s unfair, really, that he gets to look like that while my insides are still a war zone.
I suck in a breath quickly before I can stop it. Muscle memory, maybe. My body still hasn’t figured out we’re not doing that anymore. Or, that we’re done.
The last time I heard his voice, it was filtered through laughter and a nickname that didn’t belong to me, like some private joke I’ll never be in on. It twisted something in me I didn’t even know was still soft.
I start to turn around and leave before he sees me. The ache of pretending I don’t care invades my body. I steal one more glance at his broad shoulders, clinging to the thin t-shirt, before taking a step back.
And that’s when he turns.
Our eyes lock across the sand, and everything in me seizes. He sees me.
I give him a small wave. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to acknowledge that, yes, I see you too, and then I turn and start walking.
The sand is soft and quiet beneath my feet, but my heartbeat is deafening. I don’t look back. I don’t have to.
There’s no one else here to prove our marriage is real, no audience to perform for.
“Adair,” he yells behind me.
The sound carries on the wind, catching in the curl of my hair as it reaches me. It sounds like it’s been lodged in his throat for days, waiting for this moment.
I keep walking.
“Wait—please.”
A pause. Then footsteps—fast, heavy, digging into the sand as they close the distance.
“Adair, can we talk?”
I stop, but I don’t turn. My neck muscles tense, and my fingers curl into fists at my sides, tucked beneath the hem of my hoodie.
He's closer now, I can hear his steps, crunching softly in the damp sand behind me. He stops maybe three feet away. I can't not turn around at this point. I catch my breath and put on my best nonchalant face.
"Fancy seeing you here," I say as casually as I can muster.
“Hey,” he says.
“You heading out?”
"I've got to do some computer stuff at home. It's such a beautiful evening, I was having a hard time going. But I really should. Enjoy your run."
"I sent you a text, but I didn't hear back."
I laugh under my breath and try to hide the bitterness. “Oh, that smiley face emoji warranted a response? Sorry, I figured that was a butt-dial or something. We probably need to put some space between us. Now that the meeting is done, and all.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just shifts his weight behind me. “I didn’t know what else to say.”
The wind lifts my hair and sticks it to my lip, and I brush it away like it’s his fault somehow.
“I get that. But it's best this way, Parker.”
He presses his lips together. “Will you let me explain some things?”
The waves crash behind us. Somewhere in the distance, a gull calls. It’s too peaceful for this kind of conversation.
He looks tired. His hands are stuffed in his shorts pockets while his eyes search mine for something I’m not offering.
"Parker, you don't have to explain anything. We're good. We need to shift--"
"Stop. I want to explain. Please, I'll try to be quick."
"Okay."
“I’ve been trying to figure out the right thing to say,” he starts, breaking the silence. “But the easiest path is the most straightforward, right? So I’m going to dive in. I owe you an explanation.”
I don’t respond right away. I’m not sure where this is going.
He takes a step closer, his voice dropping. “First, you should know my dad flew back to DC yesterday. He made me sit down with him after the meeting with Paul. He talked to Paul on his own afterward, too. I’ve never been so happy to drop someone off at the airport.”
That’s what he’s leading with?
I nod politely. “That’s probably for the best. Your father has a... strong presence. I’m sure that relieves some stress.”
Parker huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “You could say that.”
His expression softens, and his gaze finds mine again.
“But about the phone call?—”
There it is.
“I should’ve told you about her sooner. I think you probably figured it out, but she’s my ex.”
Hearing him say it out loud feels—somehow—both better and worse. My gut was right. That voice, that smile, the nickname. I knew it.
Nobody talks like that to “a friend.”
“But that was years ago,” he adds quickly, probably catching my expression. “We ended on good terms. She’s in another relationship now—happily, as far as I know. She’s a big-time influencer. Huge audience, major brand deals, all of it. That’s why I reached out.”
I blink. “Why would you reach out to your ex?”
“I told her about Citrine. About what you’re building and how much it means to you.” He pauses. “She offered to promote the products. To her millions of followers.”
I stare at him. “Wait—you were doing this... for me?”
He nods. “I wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark or make you feel any type of way. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew she’d do it.”
Emotion rises in my chest, tightening my throat. I glance down, trying to hold myself steady. “You did all that for me? ”
“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s obvious.
I look up, studying him. I wait, watching him carefully, to catch a flinch, a smirk—something that’ll tell me this is a setup.
But there’s none of that. It's Parker. Steady, warm, and real Parker.
“If this is bullshit,” I say, my voice low, “I’m going to kick your ass.”
He lifts a brow. “That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner. It does sound like bullshit. But it’s not. And for the record, if you want to kick my ass, I can take it.”
I laugh under my breath. The tension thins barely, but it's enough.
“So, what’s the deal, then?”
“Well,” he says, “since that night, I haven’t called her back. I was too twisted up after leaving your place. Then Leeland showed up, and work got crazy... I don’t know. I still need to follow up, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first. That you even wanted my help.”
I cross my arms, curiosity edging in despite myself. “Who is she?”
“If she’s in your world, you probably know her. Rose Henchey.”
My jaw drops. “ The Rose Henchey is your ex-girlfriend? And you casually left that part out?”
He grins. “To tell you the truth, it didn’t occur to me until recently. The first time we talked about it was Saturday, when you came to my place.”
“Dudes are so clueless.” I shake my head, still stunned. “Yes, I’d love for you to help me. And, yes, I’d love to be hooked up with Rose freakin’ Henchey. Preferably last week.”
That grin of his deepens, and I hate how it makes my chest ache .
“I should’ve told you sooner,” he says, his voice dipping low again. “I hate that I made you question it. Or us. I didn’t want to make a promise I couldn’t keep.”
I want to crawl into a hole. Why do I do this, assume the worst when it comes to protecting my heart? “No. This one’s on me. I saw the way you smiled at her, the ease in your voice. I knew it wasn’t nothing. But I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”
I blow out a tight sigh. “Was that... a concession? From the famously unflappable Adair Carpenter?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”
“Right. I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”
He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine. “Adair, you’re so important to me. Rose and I are ancient history. You’re what matters now.”
The words hit me like a wave, stealing my breath for a moment.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The sound of the waves fills the space between us, grounding and soothing.
He steps closer, his hand brushing against my cheek as he leans in. When our lips meet, it’s slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like the promise of something more. We're not supposed to be doing this, but I can't stop him. I don't want to stop him.
The ocean in the background with the moon doing its whole romantic spotlight thing, it almost feels too perfect to interrupt.
"I know you need to get going. Can I walk you to your car?"
"Sure," I concede.
We stop beside the driver’s door, and I’m already stalling. My keys are in hand, but I have no intention of unlocking anything .
He looks at me for a beat, like he’s thinking the same thing I am, then runs a hand down the back of his neck. “I’ve got an early one tomorrow,” he says. “First surgery with the big dog in the hospital.”
I nod, excited for him. “Big deal?”
“Biggest. The guy eats interns for breakfast and makes attendings cry before noon. I really can’t screw it up. I think this is a test, of sorts.”
“Okay…” I say slowly, bracing myself for the polite goodbye. Because while I want to put distance between us, I don't want to say goodbye yet.
But then he surprises me.
“Will you stay at my place tonight?” he asks. “I want you there. I know I'll sleep better beside you.” He gives me that look, the one that already feels like home.
I blink at him. We aren't supposed to be doing this. How am I so damn weak to go back on what I told myself I needed to do here? Because I know I won't say no to this. What woman in her right mind could?
"Only snuggling allowed."
“Yes, to snuggle, specifically. Very wholesome and zero scandal.”
I narrow my eyes. “Does that make me your emotional support wife, now?”
He grins. “I like the ring of it.”
I should hold the line harder. Should remember all the reasons I told myself this needed to stop.
But I'm not wary of him at this moment.
I feel safe. Wanted. And that’s somehow even more dangerous. Because he wants me there. Not out of guilt. Not to fuck.
Just… because.
And if snuggling gets me a step closer to figuring out whatever this is, weird, real, terrifying, whatever, then fine. I’ll take it.
“For the record,” I say, leaning in, “if I wake up before you and make a move, that’s on you.”
He laughs, opening my car door like a gentleman-slash-temptation. “Noted.”
I slide in, heart hammering a little harder than it should for a night that’s allegedly PG.
Tomorrow he’ll save a life. Tonight, he asked me to be in his.
And I’m not sure what scares me more.
With one last lingering look, Parker steps back and heads toward his car. I arrived here full of angst and despair, and I’m leaving with a warmth still curling somewhere low in my stomach.
“Shit,” I say out loud as I remember I forgot to email Carla the updated stock list. And I left the spinach order open on the counter like a total amateur.
I can run by there quickly and be back for our maiden snuggle before he goes to sleep.
I pull out my phone and text Parker.
Running by Citrine first—forgot something. Be there soon. Don't get too emotionally attached to your pillow without me.
He replies instantly.
But it’s so soft.
I roll my eyes, smile, and shift into drive. Time to fix the spinach situation before I crawl into bed with a man who somehow makes spooning sound hotter than sex.
When I pull into the parking lot, I spot Bets’s car out front. Because, of course, she’s here. She’s got it in her head now that she has to step in, no matter how much I tell her I have it.
Inside, she’s at the front with some guy in jeans and work boots. He’s a contractor, I’m guessing, holding a blueprint and talking like she owns the place.
“Adair,” she says, catching sight of me. Her voice is clipped, but not unfriendly. “Didn’t expect you at this hour.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, stepping inside, “this place is technically still mine, last I checked. What’s going on?”
She gestures to the man beside her. “Just getting quotes. The front needs an update. Something cleaner. Sleeker. You know I’ve been saying that for a while, so I wanted to surprise you.”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Didn’t realize we were fast-tracking that conversation.”
Her smile tightens. “I’m not making decisions without you. I’m being proactive. We can talk next steps once we have some numbers.”
I glance at the blueprint. There’s already a color palette. A sketch of a new sign.
Super casual.
“I appreciate the initiative,” I say, and we both know I’m lying. Not entirely, but close enough.
Bets sighs, her voice softening. “You asked for space to turn this around, and I gave it. But I can’t afford to sit on my hands forever. You know my personality. I want to have my arsenal ready if and when we decide that's the best move.”
“I know,” I say. And I do. But that doesn’t make it easier to watch someone else tinker with my vision.
She studies me for a second longer, then turns back to the contractor.
I keep walking past them, past the too-bright track lights and citrus displays, and into the kitchen to put away everything I left out.
Then, I head to my office and close the door. I sit, letting out a long breath before opening my laptop.
One more thing to fix. One more thing to prove. I knock out what I need to send to Carla and start to leave, but decide I need to do a little investigating.
I search “Rose Henchey + beauty influencer + Instagram”
I click on her Wiki and scroll to the social media links, clicking on a few of her promo reels. She's sharp, engaging, and has the kind of audience I need. The kind who'll listen.
I start drafting ideas—something punchy, something clean. Something that’ll remind people, Citrine isn’t another wellness shop with pretty jars and expensive tinctures.
It’s mine. And I’m not letting it go.
After twenty minutes and a whole page of scribbled lines, I check the time. It’s late. And I did promise snuggling.
I shut my laptop and grab my keys, pausing long enough to flick off the office light.
Bets is still out front, talking to someone on the phone. She glances up when I pass. “Hold on a second,” she says into the phone and then puts it against her chest.
“Are you done?”
“I am, and my bed is calling. Don’t redesign the whole place while I’m gone,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
She huffs a laugh, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Just getting quotes so we can discuss. And Adair? Letting people help isn’t a weakness.”
I pause in the doorway. “Thanks, Bets. ”
Then I push the door open and step into the night, the chaos behind me buzzing like static.
She’s right. If the money from this ruse comes through after the fact, I can always reimburse her. I need to seize the moment and stop being so damn stubborn.
I’ve got someone waiting for me tonight. Let Bets do her thing.
I’m going home to do mine.