Chapter Six Looking Forward
The promotion changes things at work in small but important ways.
My station moves to the far end of the teller line, closest to Linda’s office.
I get a phone extension with a direct number.
My name appears on the weekly operations report next to Linda’s and Travis’s.
I attend a thirty-minute management meeting every Monday morning that I used to only hear about secondhand.
I’m still behind the counter most days. The customers still see me in the same spot doing the same work.
But the weight of my role is different now.
When a new hire has a question about procedure, they ask me.
When a customer complaint needs escalation, Becky routes it to my extension.
When the teller schedule needs adjusting because someone calls in sick, I’m the one who rearranges it.
It fits. It fits better than I expected. Being responsible for other people’s work feels natural, probably because I’ve been doing it informally for so long that the title just made it official.
Travis and I have settled into a routine that would look perfectly healthy from the outside.
We eat dinner together three or four nights a week.
We text throughout the day. We spend most weekends together.
He brings me coffee every morning and kisses me goodbye every evening and not a single person in Sugar Ridge suspects that anything is wrong.
The difference is that I’m no longer just enduring the pretense. I’m using it.
Over the next several weeks, I start paying careful attention to the things Travis says during casual conversation. Not about his feelings or our relationship. About people. Specifically about Kyle Frederickson.
It starts innocently enough. We’re eating dinner at Carmine’s one Thursday evening when Travis mentions that the Fredericksons are refinancing one of their rental properties.
"Kyle brought the paperwork in today," he says between bites of pasta. "Nice guy. Quiet, though. I can never tell what he’s thinking."
"He seems nice," I say. "He’s always polite when he comes to my station."
"Yeah, he’s one of those guys who doesn’t say much but everybody respects him anyway. My buddy Dave from Rotary says Kyle’s the only person under forty who actually shows up to every meeting."
I nod and take a sip of water. I don’t push. I don’t ask follow-up questions. I just let Travis talk because Travis likes to talk and because people reveal the most useful information when they think they’re just making conversation.
A few days later we’re sitting on his couch watching television when he brings up Kyle again without any prompting from me.
"Did you know Kyle Frederickson bought the old Henderson farmhouse? The one off County Road 6."
"No, I didn’t know that."
"Yeah, he closed on it a few months ago. Fixed it up himself, from what I hear. New roof, new kitchen. He’s apparently pretty handy." Travis shakes his head. "Must be nice to have that kind of money just sitting around."
"Is his family really that well off?"
"The Fredericksons? Oh yeah. They’ve got the ag supply store and about four hundred acres of farmland and a handful of rental properties in town.
Kyle’s dad built most of it from scratch.
Started with nothing and turned it into one of the more successful operations in the county.
" He pauses. "But you’d never know it talking to Kyle. He drives a ten-year-old truck and wears the same boots every day. Doesn’t flash it at all. "
I store this information carefully. Not because I care about Kyle’s money.
But because it tells me something about who he is.
He comes from a family that built something real and he doesn’t use it to impress anyone.
He works every day even though he probably doesn’t have to. He lives modestly. He shows up.
"Does he date anyone?" I ask, keeping my voice casual. "I’ve never seen him with anyone at the bank."
Travis laughs. "Kyle? No. At least not that I’ve heard. Melissa would know. She knows everything about everyone in this town."
"True."
"I think he’s just one of those guys who’s married to his work. He runs the store, he helps his dad with the farm stuff, he volunteers for every community project that comes along. I don’t think he has time for a girlfriend."
"That’s kind of admirable, actually."
"I guess. I’d go crazy without someone to come home to." He reaches over and puts his hand on my knee. "That’s what I have you for."
I smile. "Lucky you."
He has no idea how much he’s telling me.
Every casual observation about Kyle is another piece of a picture I’m quietly assembling.
Kyle is single. He’s financially stable.
He’s hardworking. He’s humble. He’s respected.
He volunteers. He spends Sundays with his parents.
He bought a farmhouse and renovated it with his own hands.
None of this is confidential information.
Travis isn’t sharing bank records or account details.
He’s sharing the kind of public knowledge that circulates freely in a town of five thousand people.
Who bought what house. Who runs what business.
Who shows up at Rotary meetings. It’s small-town talk and Travis is good at it because being informed is part of his job and his personality.
But what Travis doesn’t realize is that every piece of small-town talk is also a piece of intelligence, and I’m collecting all of it.
I don’t ask about Kyle often. Once or twice a week, at most, and always in the context of a larger conversation. I never make it obvious. I never bring him up out of nowhere. I wait for natural openings and I let Travis do the talking.
"Kyle’s mom brought cookies to the Rotary fundraiser last Saturday. Chocolate chip. Everybody lost their minds over them."
"Nancy Frederickson is apparently a really good cook. Kyle told Ben once that Sunday dinner at his parents’ house is the best meal he eats all week."
"I saw Kyle at the hardware store this morning. He was buying lumber for something. Guy never stops working."
Each comment tells me something new. Each one adds to what I already know about Kyle since long before I knew about Travis’s betrayal.
Because the truth is, I’ve always noticed Kyle.
I’ve noticed his quiet confidence and his easy warmth and the way he looks at me when we talk at my station.
I noticed all of it and I pushed it away because I was in a relationship and I was loyal and that was that.
But I’m not going to be in this relationship much longer. And when I’m free, I want to know exactly what I’ve been overlooking.
Kyle comes into the bank the following Tuesday. He gets in line behind two customers and waits patiently. When he reaches my station, he slides a deposit bag across the counter and gives me that same warm, easy smile.
"Hey, Kaitlyn. I heard about the promotion. Congratulations."
"Thank you. Word travels fast around here."
"It’s Sugar Ridge. Everything travels fast." He leans against the counter while I process his deposit. "So what does the new title mean? More work?"
"More responsibility. I help oversee the teller line now. Training, scheduling, operations stuff."
"Sounds like they finally caught up to what you’ve been doing all along."
I look up at him. "What do you mean?"
"I’ve been coming in here for years. I’ve watched you train new people, fix problems, and handle things that were clearly above your pay grade. You were doing that job before they gave you the title. They just made it official."
It’s the kind of compliment that doesn’t feel like flattery. He’s not trying to impress me. He’s stating what he’s observed, the same way he’d tell you the weather is nice or the crops are looking good. Just facts.
"I appreciate that, Kyle. Really."
"I mean it." He takes his receipt and tucks it into his shirt pocket. "So do you like it? The new role?"
"I love it. It’s challenging but it feels right."
"Good. You deserve something that feels right."
He says it simply and then he leaves. No lingering. No subtext. No ulterior motive. He said what he meant and walked out the door and that was it.
I stand behind my counter and I let myself feel what I feel.
Not guilt this time. Something else. Something warmer and more honest than anything I’ve felt in weeks.
I like talking to Kyle Frederickson. I like the way he sees me.
I like that he notices what I do without being told to notice.
I like that he remembers things I’ve said in passing and brings them up later like they mattered to him.
I’m not going to act on any of this. Not yet. Not while I’m still wearing the disguise of Travis’s girlfriend. But I’m going to stop pretending it isn’t there.
That night I lie in bed and think about the two men in my life. One of them brings me coffee every morning and tells me he loves me and spends his evenings texting my best friend. The other one remembers that I was doing a supervisor’s job before anyone gave me the title.
One of them saw me as a convenience. The other one saw me as a person.
I’ve been so focused on the logistics of my plan that I almost forgot to ask myself the most basic question. What do I actually want? Not just from the breakup. Not just from the promotion. What do I want from my life?
I want someone who sees me the way Kyle sees me. Clearly. Honestly. Without pretense or agenda.
I want someone who shows up because they want to, not because I’m useful.
I want someone who asks about my day and actually listens to the answer because the answer matters to them.
I’ve been looking at Kyle Frederickson from behind a bank counter for years and I’ve been telling myself he was just a customer. Just a friendly face. Just someone I was too loyal to think about.
But loyalty to the wrong person isn’t a virtue. It’s a waste. And I’ve been wasting my time long enough.
Two more weeks. I’ll give Travis two more weeks. I’ll gather the last of what I need. I’ll make sure every screenshot and call log is saved and organized. I’ll make sure Kendra is ready. And then I’ll walk into his office and I’ll end this on my terms.
Kyle comes in again on Friday. Our conversation lasts five minutes this time.
He tells me about a problem with one of his delivery trucks and I tell him about a customer who accidentally deposited the same check twice and couldn’t understand why it was flagged.
He laughs and I laugh and it feels normal.
It feels easy. It feels like talking to someone who is exactly who he appears to be.
"Have a good weekend, Kaitlyn."
"You too, Kyle."
He walks out and I watch him cross the parking lot to his truck. It’s an older Ford, dark green, with mud on the wheel wells and a dent in the tailgate. He climbs in and backs out carefully and drives away without rushing.
I turn back to my keyboard and I type in the next customer’s account number and I think about how strange it is that the worst thing that ever happened to me might also be the best thing.
Because if Travis hadn’t betrayed me, I would have spent the rest of my life sitting behind this counter watching Kyle Frederickson walk away and telling myself it didn’t mean anything.
But it does mean something.
And soon I’ll be free to find out what.
Two things accomplished.