Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CHRISTINE
I watch the other children all but shove their parents or nannies away at the drop-off, eager to be free of them. Since when did kids start getting embarrassed of their moms at seven years old? Doesn’t that usually start in the teenage years?
But Casey—my poor sweet, sensitive Casey—has a death grip on my hand. I walk with him to the front door of the elementary school where his summer art camp is being held for the next two weeks. There’s a group of volunteers at a folding table beside the front door, smiling as they sign everyone in.
A few moms lingering off to the side look me up and down when we reach the front of the line, and I pretend not to notice.
It was only a matter of time until news of the divorce spread around here.
I give Casey’s hand a reassuring squeeze as we collect his name tag, and I squat down to attach it to his shirt.
I force a smile that’s much sunnier than I feel. “I can’t wait to see what you make in there.”
“I’ll make something for you,” he promises.
“You’re going to have so much fun and make so many new friends.”
The first hint of worry scrunches his face together.
Casey is the most bubbly, outgoing kid I’ve ever seen…around adults. For some reason, when he’s with kids his own age, he shuts down.
He has friends—the kind you invite to birthday parties and have over to your house for playdates.
But they’ve never been the kind he’s begged me to let stay over a little bit longer. Instead, I usually have to remind him to get back out there and keep playing with them instead of coming to see me. I don’t know if he’s ever met another kid he actually likes.
I tug him a step away from listening ears.
“I want you to go in there and have fun. If you do that and just be yourself, they’re going to love you. I promise. And I’m your mom, so that means I know everything.”
He smiles, and I ruffle his hair before pulling him into a hug. “I love you. I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?”
He nods and casts one last look at me over his shoulder before letting go of my hand and taking the volunteer’s instead. She gives me an understanding smile as she escorts him inside.
I slide my sunglasses on and hurry to the car. I will not cry. I will not cry.
The tears fall as soon as I close the door behind me.
I cried taking Casey to preschool, to day care, to his first day of kindergarten, his first playdate—I don’t know why I thought today would be any different.
Today feels so much heavier though. I just really, really hope this goes well. That the other kids are nice to him. That he likes the camp counselors. So much in his world is falling apart, and it’s my fault.
“Christine?”
A fist pounds against my window, and I jump.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Lola Bartlett peers in at me, far too close to the glass for comfort. She’s in a matching neon pink workout set, and her face is bright red like she just left the Pilates studio.
I roll down the window.
“Oh.” She smiles and stands up straight. “I thought that was you. How are you?”
“I’m good, Lola, thanks. But you know what, I’m actually in a hurry. I’m heading out to see this house, so…”
I have several hours before I need to be there, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were on the hunt already! I could’ve put you in touch with our real estate agent.”
I give her a closed-lip smile. “Yeah, you know, I’m just looking around right now.”
She hums and nods understandingly as she pops her hip out to the side and readjusts the bag on her shoulder. “Well, anyway, I was going to call, but then I saw you as I was dropping Nolan off and figured I’d run over here to let you know book club is canceled this week.” She pushes her lower lip out and sighs dramatically. “Stephanie has the flu, Maryanne’s taking her in-laws to a Broadway show, and Chelsea’s house is getting fumigated, if you can believe it! So we all thought it would be better to reschedule. Wouldn’t want anyone to get behind or be left out of the discussion!”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.”
As if we ever actually discuss the books.
She smiles and waves before heading off.
I suck my teeth as I roll the window up. I would bet every penny of my divorce settlement that she’s full of shit.
I just got kicked out of fucking book club.
“Fully updated kitchen, and there’s a beautiful view of the ocean back here.”
The Realtor shifts her weight restlessly as I pace around and take in all the details.
Downsizing doesn’t even begin to cover it, but even after eight years, I’d never gotten used to living in that museum of a house. This one, at least, has the chance of feeling like a home. A four bed and three bath, which is more than enough space for me and Casey. The location is perfect—close to his school, the beach, and town.
It’s an older house, which I’m trying to convince myself makes it charming instead of outdated . Appliances that are older than my son, yellow-orange wood, floral wallpaper in all the bathrooms.
But there aren’t a ton of other options to choose from.
If the circumstances were different, I’d be long gone by now. I know how this town sees me. I was the gold-digging whore who married someone twice her age. But he’s the man who pulls all the puppet strings around here, so at least while I was married to him, no one ever said anything to my face. I had invitations everywhere, every door standing wide open.
That’ll forever be what these people know me as. It would be easier to take the money and start over someplace new.
But Casey.
His school is here, his half siblings. His life.
I glance at the time on the stove and chew on my lip. I need to get out of here within the next few minutes if I’m going to pick him up from camp on time.
The woman—I already can’t remember her name—watches my every move as I pace from the kitchen to the laundry to the living room. It’ll take a nice chunk out of the divorce settlement, but not too much. I know I need to be smart about making it last. I’m a single mother who’s been unemployed for eight years with no discernible skills. Running out of this money is not an option.
“It probably won’t stay on the market long at this price…”
I wave her off before she can launch into whatever sales pitch she’s been preparing. I’ve known since the moment I drove up that this was as good as it was going to get.
“I’ll take it.”
In my thirty-two years of life, I’ve somehow been lucky enough to never have this happen to me.
Today, that feels a lot more like bad luck though, because I have no fucking idea what to do.
I pull the car as far onto the shoulder as I can manage without careering into the ditch, the flat tire thumping obnoxiously. I climb out of the car and frown at the offender—the back right has a nail sticking out of it.
Of course.
I don’t know how to change one myself, I have no idea what number to call, and it would probably take too long for them to get here even if I did.
Do I call a ride and leave the car here and hope it’s okay when I come back for it later?
I could call Casey’s camp and tell them I’ll be late, or see if Liam’s able to pick him up. I’d rather get hit by a semitruck right here and now than call Casey’s dad.
But I want it to be me he sees walk through that door. There’s been so much change in his life, and he’s doing the best he can with it, but I’ve seen the light in his eyes dwindling these past few months.
I told him I would pick him up. He’s expecting me. So that’s who it needs to be.
I jump back a step as a truck slows and pulls in behind me?—
—and freeze at the sight of the man who steps out of the car.
Is that…that can’t be…
But yes, even in the daylight and with sunglasses covering his eyes, I can tell that is most definitely Bar Guy.
I don’t think he’s seen me yet. He glances both ways down the road, then at my car, his head tilted to the side like he’s inspecting it. “You all right?”
I swallow hard past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Flat tire.”
He stops midstep. Looks up. Looks at me. His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but instead he says, “You have a spare?”
I nod.
“You need some help?”
“I—yeah,” I admit on a sigh. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You have a jack?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
He smirks and gestures to the car. “Pop the trunk. Let’s have a look.”
I do as he says and definitely don’t stare at him as he gets closer. I don’t know why I thought his hair would be lighter in the sun, but it’s still dark as night. He shoves it out of his eyes with one hand as he opens the well beneath the trunk to get the spare. Luckily, there are some tools I never knew were in there too.
If there’s one thing my drunk memory did not do justice—he most certainly doesn’t look like a kid now. I was mostly joking with the age cracks to begin with, but had he—did he really look like this the whole time?
Jesus fucking Christ.
The longer we don’t acknowledge this, the weirder it’ll get, so I say, “It’s Fletcher, right?”
Amusement tugs at his lips. “Didn’t know if you’d remember me.”
He says that like I was blackout. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
He glances at me sideways with a crooked grin. “Did you forget I was the one serving you?”
“How long is this going to take?” I blurt. “Not that I’m not grateful for the help. I’m just in a really big hurry, and I’m already late.”
He turns the corners of his lips down, considering, and shakes his head. “Not my first rodeo. Give me ten minutes.”
“Do you want me to—can I help?”
“No offense, truly, but you’ll probably just get in the way. I’ve got it. Do you have the parking brake on?”
“No.”
He smiles in a way that would probably be condescending on anyone else, but his just looks genuine. “Can you do that then, please?”
I hop back in the car and hit the brake. “I hope you weren’t headed somewhere important,” I call.
“Nah. Would much rather be your knight in shining armor again anyway. Are we making this a regular thing?”
I make an unintelligible noise in the back of my throat and climb out of the car. “You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”
All I catch is a flash of white teeth as he grins and sets the tools on the ground.
Not knowing what else to do, I venture as far from the road as I can get without wading into the weeds, sit, and watch.
So I can know how to do it if this ever happens again , I tell myself.
Not because his arm muscles flex as he jacks the car up then gets to removing the bolts or whatever holding the tire. Not because I can also see the definition of his back through his thin T-shirt as he removes the first tire and sets it aside. Not because the veins in his hand and forearm are standing out as he tightens the bolts on the new tire.
I am not eye-fucking this twenty-three-year-old on the side of the road. Not in the slightest.
The way I keep catching glimpses of his smile when he turns his head, he fucking knows it too.
I must be ovulating or something.
“You’re all set.” He climbs to his feet, wipes his hands on his jeans, and starts packing everything back into my trunk.
“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t showed up.”
I don’t know why I admitted that aloud. I brush off the dirt on my clothes and find him watching me with a strange look on his face.
“Give me your phone,” he says.
I frown, but I do it.
“I’m going to give you my number,” he says without looking at me. “You don’t have to use it. But just in case something like this comes up again and you need some help, I want you to have it. I’m sure you have a million people you’d rather call first, but in case everyone else is busy…” He hands the phone to me. “I’m happy to be a last resort.”
The truth is, I don’t have a million people. I don’t even have one.
And somehow, I think he knows that.
For the first time since pulling up, all the teasing and amusement is gone from his tone. And the intensity in the way he’s looking at me right now…it’s too much.
I wag my phone in the air. “Of course you turned this into an opportunity to slip me your number.” My voice doesn’t come out as light as I’d been hoping, but it does the trick.
That grin slaps back into place, and he waves as he heads to his car. “You’re welcome!”