It’s a Business Doing Pleasure With You

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

He’s off limits to me by all social norms. Etiquette dictates I extinguish my feelings before things get even messier. Even the word feels wrong. Crush. There should be a more refined term after a woman turns thirty. A besotting?

“Simping. It’s called simping,” Maya says. “And considering you’re a life coach who micromanages other people’s lives, you really should know better.”

I adjust her volume. Maya’s voice never needs much amplification, especially when we’re discussing Casey.

“I do know better. It just happened,” I say. “Do you think I planned on falling in love with my best friend’s husband?”

I head north along the two-lane highway hugging Lake Washington, a protective hand on the pizza boxes buckled into my passenger seat. A horn blares behind me, but I’m already going the speed limit. Well, five miles under … but still. Not slow enough to warrant all this honking.

“Your dead best friend’s husband, so don’t be so dramatic. And it happened because you put your own life on hold to help him with the girls after Ally passed, which was selfless and kind, yada yada.”

“Thank you.”

“But here we are, six years later, and you’re still sacrificing a perfectly good Saturday night to watch Netflix in Casey’s beautiful home, with Casey’s beautiful kids, drinking Casey’s beautiful wine.”

“Which part of that is supposed to sound bad again?”

The driver behind me is red-faced now, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Calm down, buddy. Stress is murder on your nervous system.

Or maybe he’s a murderer …

“Maya, take down this license plate in case I get murdered.”

“It’s a mirage,” she says, ignoring me, which is upsetting because one of these days it will be a murderer, and she’ll have nothing to give the investigators. “Casey fills every empty hole in your life so well, you don’t even notice them anymore. Well, almost every hole.”

“I ordered something for that one on .”

“I’m serious, Lauren. You wouldn’t let one of your clients live like this.”

Wouldn’t I? I mentally spread out my current existence like outfit choices on a bed.

My career is fully established, so no issue there.

I’m one of the most sought-after life coaches at Live by Design, Seattle’s premier personal development agency.

My physical health is on point, too, thanks to religious five AM runs and a strict paleo diet during the workweek.

Sure, my social circle could be larger, but Maya is as vocal as ten friends. And it’s hard to make new friends as a single woman. People assume you’re trying to recruit them into a multi-level marketing scheme or a threesome. Or both.

“I’m comfortable with the way things are,” I say with a frown. “And no one’s filling your hole either, even though it’s way easier for you.”

“You think it’s easier for me because I sleep with women?”

“Yes.”

“It’s easier for me because I’m well adjusted. I show up to my own life. And, hello! This is your life calling. Me inviting you to something that will be real and fun and stimulating.”

“A UFC fight is not stimulating. It’s a cesspool of toxic masculinity and blood.”

“But it’s at Climate Pledge Arena! The place is a total vibe. Upscale cocktail bars, fine dining. I wouldn’t have invited you if it were anywhere else.”

I gently brake for a curve in the road, my hands at nine and three. The driver behind me has had enough, and slams on the gas to illegally pass me on the right. He rolls down his window, barking profanities. I roll down mine too.

“Sir, have you had your vitamin levels checked? Because low thiamine is a common cause of irritability.”

He flips me the bird and speeds off. So, not a murderer. Just a vitamin-deficient road-rager.

“What, are we diagnosing people on the street now?”

“It’s been a long week. All I want to do is relax with pizza and a movie at Casey’s. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes. It’s terrible. Because you’re stuck in your comfort zone, where nothing fun or sexy ever happens.” Maya’s voice softens. “And I wouldn’t be so hard on you if you would just tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t. He’s Ally’s.”

“But she can’t bang him where she is—you can! And my guess is, if Ally were to materialize before our very eyes, she’d ask what the fuck was taking you two so long.”

I chew on my lip. Of course I want to tell Casey. I even Googled “low risk methods to tell your crush you like them,” which may or may not have been written for twelve-year-olds.

But oh, the things I’ll lose if he rejects me.

Our early morning trail runs, the sound of our hushed footfalls on the forest path while the world sleeps.

Eating peach-and-brie sandwiches by the lighthouse in summer while the girls dig for razor clams along the water’s edge.

Many, many shared bottles of excellent wine on his porch swing while we listen to the rain.

Most of all, the security of belonging somewhere in the world. Belonging to my found family.

And even worse—what if he doesn’t reject me? Just imagine what people would say …

Sleeping with her dead best friend’s husband? What a bitch!

Total bitch. I bet she was after him from the start.

Did you know she met Casey first? She probably always had a thing for him and was lying in wait.

Who says she waited? Maybe she’s been sleeping with him the whole time.

It’s sickening. Who needs enemies when you have a best friend like her.

My heartrate ticks up. “I can’t tell him. It would ruin everything.”

“What is it you tell your clients? ‘Your better life is waiting for you to make it so?’ ”

“That’s just the slogan that fit best on my business card.”

I pull into the driveway of Casey’s towering colonial-revival and already my shoulders relax.

Being here always has this effect on me, the real estate equivalent of a Xanax.

I love the crisp white paint against black shutters, the emerald-green arborvitae lining the path. Everything manicured and in its place.

What would it be like to not be a guest here? At this point, I’m a guest who no longer knocks, sure … but Maya is right. This isn’t my home, and Casey isn’t my husband, no matter how much I like to pretend.

But what if I could make it so? Little goosebumps tingle up my arms.

Maya capitalizes on my silence.

“Holy shit, you’re actually considering it aren’t you? OK, let’s practice. Pretend I’m Casey.”

“I’ll play along,” I say warily, “but just for fun. I’m not actually going to do it.

” I take a deep breath, imagining it’s him on the other end of the line and not Maya crunching kettle chips with Dateline playing in the background.

“Casey. In the six years since Ally died, I’ve developed certain feelings for you. ”

“Nothing sexier than bringing up the dead wife,” Maya says dryly. “Next.”

“How about … Casey, you are loyal, trustworthy, and dependable.”

“Too golden-retrievery. Try again.”

I huff and blow an errant wisp of hair out of my face. “If you’re such an expert on love confessions, then tell me how you’d do it.”

“Easy. I’d say, ‘Hey Case. Come here and bang me real quick so I can see if it’s true love, or if I’m just too scared to see what else is out there like Maya says.’ ”

“Ah, the universal love language of ‘come here and bang me real quick.’ ” I grin.

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it. I’m batting a thousand with that one. But it should be in your voice. Close your eyes. Picture him in your head. Imagine you are completely safe, with no risk of getting hurt whatsoever. Then say what’s in your heart.”

I sigh and close my eyes, turning off the car and resting my head against the headrest. Maya waits patiently while I find the right words.

“Casey,” I begin, seeing us gently rocking on his porch swing, a Pendleton blanket over our knees and an open bottle of Barolo between us as we watch the rain.

“My whole life, I’ve been afraid. Of natural disasters, of intimacy, of my own shadow.

But when I’m with you, all my fears recede.

You are my safe harbor. My sanctuary. As long as my hand is in yours, the storms can rage, and I won’t care.

I’m in love with you, Casey, and the only fear I have left is not knowing if you can love me too. ”

Maya is silent. Then she exhales slowly.

“Damn. Now I may be in love with my best friend. Definitely go with that one.”

“But what will he say?”

“You won’t know until you’re in the moment. You just have to take the risk.”

My chest flutters at the possibility. I want to take the leap. But will Casey catch me?

“Oh my god, Maya. Am I really doing this tonight?”

“Probably not. You’ve chickened out every other time.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“I just want you to come to the fights with me! We’ll get you under a new man to clear your head, and afterwards, if you still want to confess your love to Casey, you can do so of sound mind and with a dewy, post-sex glow. It’s no accident Nars named their best blush Orgasm.”

Hmmm. It has been ages since I’ve had a proper night out. The pulsing energy of the city. A craft cocktail with one of those spherical ice balls in my hand. Sparkling banter with a handsome stranger and where it might lead …

But historically, it always leads to the same place, at least for me. An awkward morning, a two-day hangover, and a loneliness that lingers like smoke on a cashmere turtleneck.

“No,” I say firmly. “I can’t keep letting myself off the hook. Like you said, a better life is out there just waiting for me to make it so. Casey needs to know how I feel—tonight. I’ve already wasted too much time.”

I tuck a few loose strands of blonde hair behind my ears and wet my lips.

My mascara has wilted, but it can’t be helped now.

Hopefully it reads as sultry instead of manic in the forgiving glow of Casey’s warm sconced lighting.

I shake some nervous energy out of my hands and slow my breathing.

I’m already too flushed. My cheeks have gone way past Nars Orgasm and are edging dangerously close to Nars Panic Attack.

“Shit, seriously?” Maya says, voice full of excitement.

“Call me the second he pulls out. I’ll be waiting with a glass of champagne, ready to hear the blow by blow, so to speak.

Ah, I’m so excited! Go do it right now before you lose your nerve.

You are a sexy, confident bitch, and you got this, ’kay? Love you, bye.”

I peer out my window at Casey’s perfect home. The camellias are in bloom, proof we’ve made it through another “big dark” in the Pacific Northwest, and it’s finally spring, the best season for new beginnings.

It will all be fine. People make love confessions every day. You just say how you feel and look vulnerable and wait for them to kiss you. I can do this. I can do this.

I exit the safety of my car and march up the immaculate lawn, two oversized pizza boxes in hand, and let myself in through the tall double doors.

In the tidy, cream-hued living room, the flatscreen is flashing the Xbox menu, but the controllers usually attached to the children like umbilical cords have been abandoned on the pillowy cloud sofa.

“Case?” I call. “Girls?”

“Kitchen!” Casey’s familiar voice calls out.

Effervescent giggles lead me to his airy, well-appointed kitchen. A bottle of wine from Casey’s collection sits open on the expansive island next to a heap of flour and rolling pins.

The man himself is wearing a blue-striped apron, neatly folded down at his waist—and, oh, it’s a crime how good he looks in that fitted grey thermal.

It hugs his broad shoulders and tapers down his midsection like it was painted on.

A dash of flour rides on his cheek just under those brown eyes that forever look like they’re smiling.

My midsection tenses at the sight of him.

Leading-man handsome, but with the warmth of someone who didn’t get that way until after his personality developed.

His hands are confidently submerged in a large ball of pizza dough. The girls are in aprons, too, and flour hazes the air. The beautiful mess of it all looks like it was pulled directly from a Williams Sonoma catalogue. My heart squeezes. It almost hurts, how much I want this life.

Then make it so. All you have to do is tell him how you feel.

“Auntie Lauren!” Emma squeals, leaping up and clinging to my waist like a koala as the pizza boxes threaten to topple from my arms. “Guess what? I’m the Nursery Magic Fairy in my school play!”

Pride balloons in my chest. “Emma, that’s amazing. I knew you’d get the part. All our hard work running lines paid off.”

“Even Nursery Magic Fairies need to wash up for dinner,” Casey says, relieving me of his precocious six-year-old. Emma laughs and wriggles out of his arms. He turns to me, smiling and tossing a dish towel over one shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

He aims to kiss my cheek just as I turn to set down the pizza boxes, and his lips stamp the corner of my mouth instead. His five o’clock shadow sandpapers pleasurably against my skin.

“And I didn’t know you knew how to make pizza other than the frozen kind,” I tease, raising an eyebrow and touching my fingertip to the dash of flour under his eye. “I graduated a particularly difficult client this week, so I’m here to celebrate with my favorite—”

I stop short. Something feels off. New and unfamiliar, changing the relaxed molecules all around us, tightening them up for company.

The dining table ratchets into focus, set with the gold-leafed serviettes Casey uses for dinner parties.

An extra wine glass sits on the island, garnet lipstick kissed to the rim.

What the …

I follow Casey’s enamored gaze to the sliding glass door.

It opens, she enters, and all the oxygen is sucked out of the room.