Chapter 11
The Ex and the Now
Melissa
The Redwood Hollow Country Club was the kind of place Melissa had learned to navigate two decades ago—all polished wood and muted lighting, the clink of crystal and the murmur of money talking to money.
She moved through the charity gala in a flattering navy cocktail dress, her smile firmly in place, her handshake just the right length.
She hated every second of it.
Not the cause—children’s literacy, a foundation she genuinely believed in.
Not even the networking, which was a necessary part of the job.
What she hated was the performance of it.
The constant awareness of being watched, evaluated, judged.
The knowledge that every word she said would be remembered and potentially repeated.
Usually, she could compartmentalize. Push down the discomfort and focus on the work, on the connections being made, on the good that events like this actually accomplished.
Tonight, she couldn’t stop thinking about June.
Four days since the kiss. Four days of stolen moments after Lila went to bed—soft conversations at the kitchen island, lingering touches that made Melissa’s skin hum, kisses that started gentle and turned into something else entirely.
Last night, June had pressed her against the pantry door and kissed her until Melissa’s knees actually went weak, which was a thing she’d thought only happened in novels.
Her phone buzzed against her clutch. She angled it just enough to read the notification.
June had sent a photo.
Lila, barefoot on the back porch in her pajamas, tilting her head back to look at the dark sky, one hand pointing at something out of frame. The caption read: She says she found a constellation shaped like an otter. I am not going to be the one to tell her that’s Orion.
Melissa pressed her lips together to keep from smiling in the middle of a conversation about zoning regulations.
She excused herself as quickly as she could, stepped to the edge of the room, and typed back: Tell her otters are much more impressive than hunters. She’s not wrong.
The reply was immediate: a single otter emoji, then a moon emoji, then: She asked when you’re coming home. I told her late. She said “that’s what she always says.” So just a heads up.
Melissa stared at the screen. Then typed: I’ll be home before midnight.
She was halfway to the bar when she saw him.
Michael Reeves looked mostly the same as he had two years ago—tall, the silver at his temples having spread further, wearing his charm like a well-tailored suit.
He was laughing at something a woman beside him had said, his head thrown back in that performative way Melissa used to find attractive before she’d learned what it was actually hiding.
Their eyes met across the room.
His smile sharpened.
Melissa’s first instinct was to flee. To find an exit, a bathroom, another conversation to hide in. But she was a state senator, not a cornered animal, and she refused to let Michael see her run.
She stood her ground.
“Melissa.” He stopped in front of her, the familiar charming smile firmly in place. “You look well.”
“Michael.” She kept her voice neutral. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just visiting some old friends. You know how it is.” He sipped his drink—whiskey, neat, the same thing he’d always ordered. “I’ve been following your infrastructure bill. Impressive work. Though I hear it’s hitting some resistance.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m sure.” His eyes swept over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “How’s Lila? I’ve been meaning to schedule a visit, but work has been so demanding.”
Work. As if work were the reason he’d seen his daughter exactly twice in the past year, both times brief and awkward, Lila emerging from each visit quieter than before.
“She’s doing wonderfully,” Melissa said. “She’s having a great summer.”
“I heard. Someone mentioned you’ve hired a nanny. Young woman, apparently.” His smile didn’t waver. “Live-in and everything.”
Melissa kept her expression perfectly still—years of political training, of learning to mask every flicker of emotion that might be used against her. Her heart was pounding. In her clutch, her phone felt suddenly heavy, the warmth of June’s texts still there.
“My childcare arrangements aren’t particularly newsworthy,” she said coolly. “And live-in was a good solution with my hours.”
“Yes, you never were much for mothering, were you?” Michael said.
Melissa’s blood boiled, the words landing exactly where he’d aimed them.. “I am here with her. What about you?”
“Now, now, I’m not attacking you, just stating facts,” Michael said. “And I’m glad Lila has… company. While you’re working so hard.”
“My daughter is thriving,” Melissa said. Her voice came out colder than intended.
“Our daughter, you mean.”
She ignored him. “Which you would know, if you ever bothered to actually see her.” She kept the anger perfectly leashed, perfectly contained, her face a mask. “Your concern is noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She walked away before he could respond.
Her hands were shaking.
She made it to the hallway outside the ballroom before she had to stop, pressing her palm against the wall. He doesn’t know, she told herself. He’s fishing. Making insinuations because that’s what he does.
But the fear was there anyway. The old, familiar terror of being exposed. Of having her private life dissected and displayed for public consumption. She thought about June’s mouth on hers. About all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong.
What am I doing?
“Mel?”
Rachel was standing at the end of the hallway, concern evident in her expression.
“You took off,” she said, moving closer. “And I saw who you were talking to. What did he say?”
“The usual. Passive-aggressive comments about my parenting. Insinuations about my domestic situation.” Melissa’s voice was bitter. “He mentioned the nanny.”
Rachel’s expression hardened. “That man is a parasite in a tweed jacket. Want me to accidentally spill red wine on him? I’ll do it. I’ll enjoy it.”
Melissa almost laughed. Almost.
“I’m fine. He just caught me off guard.”
“You’re not fine. You’re shaking.” Rachel steered her toward a small alcove. “Sit. Breathe. Tell me what’s really going on.”
Melissa sat. She thought about lying, about deflecting, about maintaining the careful composure she showed the rest of the world.
But this was Rachel.
“I kissed her,” she said, lowering her voice. “June. I kissed her.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “When?”
“Tuesday. And since then—there have been more kisses. At night, after Lila’s asleep.” Melissa pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Rachel. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before.”
“You sure about that?” Rachel asked, tilting her head.
Melissa stopped. “What?”
“I’m just saying you’ve talked about other women in ways that made me think. More than once.” At Melissa’s look, she shook her head. “Mel, calm down. I’m saying you’ve had crushes before.”
Catherine Aldridge surfaced immediately—all those late nights reviewing policy briefs, the way her approval had felt like sunlight. Admiration, Melissa had called it. She’d been very good at calling it other things.
“I don’t know,” Melissa said. “She’s so young, and she works for me, and if anyone found out—”
“Is that what Michael was implying? That he knows?”
“I don’t think so. But the fact that he even mentioned her—” Melissa’s throat tightened. “I can’t go through that again. Having my private life turned into ammunition.”
“Do you have feelings for her? Real feelings, not just attraction?”
Melissa thought about June’s laugh. About the way she looked at Melissa like she was worth seeing—really seeing, not just the public image but the messy, uncertain person underneath.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“Then you need to figure out what you’re going to do about it. Because hiding isn’t sustainable.” Rachel reached out and took her hand. “You deserve to be happy. When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”
Melissa didn’t answer. She couldn’t remember.
“Go home,” Rachel said. “I’ll make your excuses here.”
Melissa wanted to argue. She had obligations, people expecting her, the whole careful machinery of her public life demanding she stay.
She went home.
The house was quiet when she let herself in, the foyer dark except for the soft glow of the living room lamp. She slipped off her heels and padded toward the light.
June was asleep on the couch.
Curled against the cushions, a book open on her chest, her hair spilling across the throw pillow in honey-gold waves.
She’d been waiting up—a cup of tea on the coffee table, long cold, a blanket half-pulled over her legs.
Melissa stood in the doorway and let herself look, just for a moment.
The quiet warmth of someone being here. Waiting.
This is what coming home can feel like.
She crossed to the couch and brushed a strand of hair from June’s face. June stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Melissa? What time is it?”
“Late. Almost midnight.”
“I was waiting up.” June pushed herself to sitting, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked at Melissa properly, and something in her expression shifted. “What happened?”
“Michael was there.”
June went very still. “Your ex-husband.”
“He made comments. About you—nothing specific, just insinuations.” Melissa sat down beside her, close enough that their knees touched. “He mentioned the live-in nanny.”
“Does he know something?”
“I don’t think so. I think he was fishing.” Melissa’s voice came out rough. “But it rattled me. The thought of him—of anyone—using you as a weapon. It made me realize how much I’ve been pretending I can control this. Control any of it.”
June was quiet for a moment. “So I’m a secret.”
“No.” The word came out immediately. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”