Chapter 3 Aubree #2
Nora’s eyes widen. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Oh shit is right.” I lean back against the vinyl seat, the memories still sharp enough to hurt. “His name was Daniel. He was a senior account manager, older, sophisticated. Everything I thought I wanted in a man.”
“How long were you actually together?”
“Eight months. Eight months of thinking I’d finally found my person, you know? He was charming and funny, and he made me feel like I was the most important thing in his world.”
Marge brings our food, and I wait until she’s out of earshot before continuing.
“We kept it quiet at work, company policy and all that. I thought he was being professional. Turns out he was just being careful not to let his wife find out.”
“Jesus, Aubree. How did you find out?”
I take a bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly while I work up the courage to tell the story I’ve been trying not to think about for weeks.
“Company party. He’d been acting weird all week, distant.
I thought maybe he was planning to go public with our relationship, make some grand gesture.
You know, like the ones in romance novels.
I was so na?ve.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“I showed up in this gorgeous dress, ready to be his date officially for the first time.”
“And?”
“And he was there with his wife. Very pregnant wife. Like, ready-to-pop pregnant.” The memory still makes my stomach clench.
“She was beautiful, Nora. Sweet and glowing and everything a pregnant woman should be. And she kept talking about how excited they were about the baby, how Daniel was going to be such a good father.”
Nora reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “That bastard.”
“The worst part was, he saw me see them. And he had the audacity to look guilty. Not ashamed or apologetic. Guilty. Like I was the one who’d done something wrong by showing up at a work function.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to the bathroom and threw up. Then I went home, packed a bag, and spent the weekend at a hotel trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life. I didn’t want him to be able to find me. So I made it where he couldn’t.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Monday morning. He actually tried to explain it away, said it was complicated, that he and his wife were having problems. All the classic cheater lines.” I push lettuce around on my plate, my appetite gone. “I told him exactly what I thought of him and his complications, then I went to HR.”
“Good for you.”
“Not really. Turns out, reporting the married head of the accounting department for having an affair with you is a great way to make your work life unbearable. Suddenly, I was getting the worst assignments, being left out of meetings, and generally frozen out by everyone who mattered.”
Nora’s expression darkens. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“Probably. But proving it would have been a nightmare, and I just…I didn’t have the fight left in me. I’d spent eight months thinking I was building a life with someone, only to find out I was just a side piece. It broke something in me.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the sounds of the diner washing over us.
“So you quit?” Nora asks finally.
“I quit. Cashed out my 401k, broke my lease, and came home to lick my wounds.” I meet her eyes across the table. “Pathetic, right?”
“Not pathetic. Human.” She leans forward, her expression fierce. “That asshole used you, Aubree. He lied to you for eight months. You have every right to be hurt and angry and confused.”
“I keep thinking I should have known. There had to be signs, right? Nobody’s that good at compartmentalizing their life.”
“Or maybe he was just a really good liar. Sociopaths usually are.” She gives me a wink.
That makes me smile for the first time since we sat down. This is why, after everything, she’s still one of my best friends. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’”
“About what?”
“About leaving here in the first place. About thinking I was too good for small-town life. About being a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate what she had.”
Nora’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who called you a spoiled brat?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Jesse.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawns in her eyes. “You’ve talked to him already.”
“If you can call it talking. It was more like him listing all my character flaws while I tried not to cry.”
“What exactly did he say?”
I give her the abbreviated version of our confrontation, leaving out the part about him grabbing my throat and the admission about our kiss keeping him up at night. Some things are too raw to share, even with my best friend.
“He’s not wrong,” I say when I finish. “I was spoiled. Truett did give me everything I wanted, and I did take it for granted.”
“Maybe. But you were also eighteen and grieving and trying to figure out who you were outside of this place. That doesn’t make you a brat. It makes you normal.”
“Then why do I feel so guilty about it?”
“Because you have a conscience. Which, for the record, spoiled brats usually don’t.”
Marge refills our tea glasses without being asked, a small kindness that reminds me why I used to love this place.
“Can I ask you something?” Nora says once Marge is gone.
“Sure.”
“Was this Daniel guy anything like Jesse?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, was he tall and dark and brooding? Did he have that whole strong, silent type thing going on?”
I think about it, really think about it. Daniel was tall, yes. Dark hair, yes. But brooding? Not exactly. He was more…polished. Smooth. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it, how to make me feel special and wanted.
Jesse’s never been smooth in that way. He’s blunt and honest and sometimes cruel in his directness. But he’s also real in a way Daniel never was. I’ve always thought I could fix Jesse if he’d only just give me a chance.
“Not really,” I say finally.
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just…hmm.”
I know that look. It’s the same one she used to get in high school when she was formulating a theory about why our chemistry teacher wore the same tie every Tuesday or why the quarterback always ate lunch alone on Fridays.
“Nora.”
“I’m just saying, it’s interesting that you spent something like seven years trying to get over Jesse Nelson and ended up with a guy who was the complete opposite of him.”
“I wasn’t trying to get over Jesse. There was nothing to get over.”
She gives me a look that clearly says she thinks I’m delusional.
“There wasn’t,” I insist. “We kissed once. Once. And then I left for college. End of story.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
But even as I say the words, I can feel Jesse’s hand on my throat, can hear his voice saying that kiss still keeps him up at night. And I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I’ve been lying to myself for all these years.
We finish lunch and walk the two blocks to Nora’s apartment, the late afternoon sun warm on our shoulders. Grizzly River is quiet at this time of day. Most people are still at work or tending to their ranches. It’s peaceful in a way that makes me understand why Nora chose to stay.
Her apartment is small but cozy, with exposed brick walls and wide-plank floors that probably date back to when the building was first constructed. She’s decorated it with a mix of vintage finds and modern touches that somehow work together perfectly.
“This is really nice,” I say, running my hand along the back of her couch.
“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s mine. Want some wine? I have a bottle of that Moscato we had last time I visited you.”
“God, yes. Please.”
She disappears into the kitchen, leaving me to explore. The walls are covered with photos—some of us from high school, some of her family, some of her with various animals she’s helped over the years. There’s one of her with a horse that looks vaguely familiar.
“Is this Thunder?” I call out, pointing to the photo.
“Yep. Took that last month. He’s doing well, by the way. Still ornery as hell, but healthy.”
Thunder was my horse growing up, a cantankerous old gelding who only liked me and Truett. When I left for college, I’d assumed Truett would sell him, but apparently, he’d just moved him to a different pasture.
“I should go see him,” I say when Nora returns with two glasses of wine.
“You should. He’s at the Hendersons’ place now. They board horses for people who can’t keep them on their own land anymore.”
We settle onto her couch, and she tucks her feet under her like she used to do during our marathon movie nights in high school.
“Okay,” she says, “I told you about my boring life. Now I want details about yours. The real details.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you miss it?”
So I tell her. There were things I loved, but there were also other things.
I talk about my life. About my work friends, who were fun to grab drinks with but never became real friends.
About the dates that never went anywhere because I was too busy comparing everyone to a memory I couldn’t quite shake.
“You were homesick,” she says when I finish.
“No, I wasn’t. I was just…adjusting.”
“For years?”
“It takes time to build a life somewhere new.”
“Or you were trying to build a life somewhere that never felt like home.”
I want to argue with her, but the wine and the familiar comfort of her friendship are making it hard to maintain my defenses.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Maybe I was running from something instead of running to something.”
“And now you’re back.”
“Now I’m back.”
“For how long?”
It’s the question I’ve been avoiding, even in my own mind. “I don’t know. Long enough to figure out what comes next, I guess.”
“And what if what comes next is staying?”
The idea should terrify me. Six weeks ago, the thought of moving back to South Dakota permanently would have sent me into a panic. But sitting here, in this quiet apartment in this tiny town, surrounded by the easy comfort of old friendship, it doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.
“I guess we’ll see,” I say.
And for the first time since I got Daniel’s wife’s pregnancy announcement in my face, I actually mean it.