Chapter 9 #2
He chuckles, lifting his porcelain cup to take a slow sip of his espresso.
He sets it down and bites his lower lip, his expression turning entirely calculated.
"I see. Now, who do you want? Your husband?
" He leans further across the small table, closing the distance between us until his voice drops to a quiet murmur.
"Your marriage isn't exactly going the way it was supposed to, is it? I mean, come on, Lily."
He pauses, watching my reaction before continuing. "Even if you do not want to get into something serious right now, we could always have an affair."
A wave of pure disgust hits my throat. I push my chair back hard, the legs scraping sharply against the tile floor as I stand up.
"I heard Greta in the production team say something about you sleeping with married women," I say, a dry laugh escaping my throat.
"And I thought to myself that it couldn't possibly be true. "
"But I guess she was right," I continue, looking down at him. "What you wanted was an affair. You enjoy the thrill of it, don't you?"
John looks up at me, his expression momentarily blank with confusion before he shrugs his broad shoulders.
He looks at me as if I am a daft person who simply doesn't understand the way the world works.
"I mean, don't act like you don't know what I am talking about, Lily.
You must be tired of sleeping with the same person for a long time.
I'm just saying I could help with that, completely for free. "
He reaches his hand across the wooden table, his fingers darting out to snatch my wrist.
I pull my arm back instantly, my knuckles hitting the edge of my bag. "Don't you dare touch me," I say through my teeth. "And just to put it to you plainly, I love my husband."
John lets out a mocking grin, leaning back in his chair. "Well, but he clearly doesn't love you back."
"We are just going through a rough patch," I snap, my voice trembling with an old anger.
"Oh, really? And you decided to end the rough patch with a divorce, then?" he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Leave me alone," I say, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "This is my very last warning to you."
I turn on my heel and step away from the table, heading straight for the cafe door. Behind me, I can hear the sound of his heavy shoes pursuing me as he tosses a bill onto the counter to settle the account.
"Come on, Lily," he says, his voice loud as he catches up to me on the crowded pavement outside. "Just one time. I promise I'll make it worth your while." His fingers slide down my sleeve, gripping my hand tightly.
"Lily?"
The familiar, deep timber of Noah's voice makes me whirl around. A wave of pure relief crashes through my chest, but the feeling cuts short the moment my eyes register the woman standing directly beside him.
Celeste.
"Oh," I say, the warmth leaving my face as I look between the two of them. "I can see you are with your friend. Now, if you will excuse me."
I turn to walk away down the sidewalk, but John insists on following my trail, his shadow falling over mine. I wheel around to face him, my chest heaving. "And you, don't you dare follow me. Don't you dare."
I take another step back, but John’s fingers lock around my wrist again. Before I can even draw breath to yell, Noah steps forward, his long fingers wrapping around John's forearm with a bone-crushing grip.
"Leave my wife alone," Noah says, his voice dangerously low.
John looks at Noah’s fingers on his arm, notes the solid line of his jaw, and slowly releases his grip on my wrist, taking a step back into the crowd.
Noah turns his face to me, his shoulders dropping slightly as he steps into my path. "Come on. I'll drive you back."
I pause, looking at him, the sting of seeing them together still fresh. I remember I came in John's car, leaving me stranded. "What about your friend?" I ask, tilting my head toward the sidewalk behind him.
"Who? Celeste?" Noah asks.
I nod my head once. "Yes. Celeste."
Noah looks back over his shoulder toward her, his posture rigid. "Well, I am going away with my wife," he says clearly, his voice carrying down the sidewalk. "She'll understand and sort it out herself."
He turns back to me, lifting a hand to press his fingers against his forehead.
His skin looks unusually pale, and his amber eyes are glassy.
He has the flu, I deduce instantly, recognizing the exact shadow of exhaustion that always hits him when he gets sick.
He has always hated taking medication, and my mind automatically flashes to the years I spent forcing him to swallow his pills.
"Sure," I tell him, my protective instinct overriding the anger.
We cross the busy asphalt together, heading into the parking garage beneath his building. He unlocks the SUV, opening the door to let me into the passenger seat... our car. The familiar scent of leather and his cedar cologne fills my lungs as he climbs into the driver's seat.
We drive through the midday traffic in absolute silence.
"Why were you with him?" Noah asks out of the blue, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"To end things," I respond, looking out the window at the passing storefronts.
I glance back at his profile and find his hands have tightened around the leather of the steering wheel until his knuckles are white.
"I see," he murmurs. The SUV stops at a red light. He turns his head to look at me, his jaw tight. "Do you like him?"
I turn to face him fully, watching the slight pulse vibrating in his cheek. I can tell he is gnashing his teeth behind his lips. "Oh, well, no. I don't."
He doesn't say another word for the rest of the drive, the quiet in the vehicle growing heavy until he pulls up to the curb in front of my office building.
I reach down, my fingers finding the plastic latch of my seatbelt to release it, but before I can step out, his hand moves across the console, holding my fingers still.
"I was jealous," Noah says, his voice rough and cracking slightly. "Seeing him hold you like that... I apologize."
"It's alright," I say softly, looking down at his hand over mine.
I make a move to pull my fingers away, but his grip tightens, refusing to let go of the connection. "Would you follow me to dinner?" he asks, his eyes searching mine with a vulnerability that makes my chest ache. "Just once? Maybe we could unwind."
I look up into his face, noting the wobbly, easy smile he tries to give me despite the obvious fever burning behind his eyes.
His dark hair is entirely out of place, a few thick locks falling across his forehead.
I am intensely tempted to reach out and run my fingers through the strands to arrange them properly, but I hold myself back, keeping my hands still.
"You smell nice, Lily," he says quietly, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of my hand.
"Thank you," I whisper.
I unfasten the seatbelt with my free hand and open the door, stepping onto the concrete pavement. I turn back around, holding the frame of the door as I look at his sick, hopeful face. That date.
"I'll go on it," I say, a small, unstoppable smile finally finding its way to my lips. "Send me the details."
I close the door before he can answer, walking through the glass doors of my building with a lightness in my step that I haven't felt in over a year.
***
The moment I sit down at my mahogany desk, my phone vibrates against the wood.
It is a text message from Noah. He has already sent over the address of the restaurant, followed by a brief line stating the reservation is set for tonight. How incredibly nice.