Six #2
She could deflect. Make it a joke. Break it open.
She doesn’t.
She stands there, lets the moment exist without pretending it didn’t happen.
“Happy to disappoint,” she says, but it comes out softer than intended.
Jason steps into the hallway behind her, his hand settling at her waist—light, familiar. Not claiming.
Present.
“Come in,” he says to Leo, easy. “Kids have been waiting all day. And don’t let them scam you into snacks after bedtime.”
Leo huffs a quiet laugh, the tension easing just enough. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He steps inside.
Nods once to Jason. Then to Brielle.
Something acknowledged.
Then it’s gone.
The kids crash into him.
“Uncle Leo!”
“Are we having a party?”
“My tooth is loose, look!”
He drops to a crouch, sets the box and drinks down, and lets himself be pulled into it. He listens. Really listens—checks the tooth, inspects the bandaid, watches the magic trick that isn’t one.
He’s fully there.
No split attention. No distraction.
It’s easy to remember why he was always the first call.
Brielle stays at the edge of it, watching.
Jason’s hand rests at the small of her back—steady, grounding. She leans into it for a second, then straightens.
“Back by ten,” Jason says, but his eyes are on her.
She nods, grabbing her purse. “Text if you need anything.”
Routine words.
Different weight.
Leo stands again, kids still attached.
“Take your time,” he says.
Simple.
Neutral.
It isn’t.
His eyes flick to hers once more—brief, precise—then back to Jason.
Jason doesn’t react, but his fingers shift slightly at her back.
The kids pull Leo into the living room, already arguing about who gets to be the racecar. The TV clicks on. The root beer lines up on the table like it belongs there.
Brielle lingers by the door, watching.
Leo on the floor.
Kids around him.
Everything exactly as it should be.
Except it isn’t.
For a moment, she feels outside of it—like she’s watching something rearrange itself without asking her first.
Jason leans closer, voice just for her. “You okay?”
He already knows the answer isn’t simple.
He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Gentle. Familiar.
“You look incredible,” he says.
A beat.
“Ready?”
She is.
She isn’t.
But she wants to see what happens next.
They step outside. The cold hits clean, sharp. The door closes behind them, sealing in warmth, noise, normalcy.
Jason takes her hand, lacing their fingers together.
It feels steady.
It feels like a choice.
It feels like a question.
As they walk to the car, she glances back once.
Leo is in the window, lit by the TV glow.
Looking out.
Not hidden.
Not reaching.
Just… watching.
There’s nothing inappropriate in it.
But nothing about it is neutral, either.
Mom Club Confidential
Rachel
Hypothetical. If your husband suddenly got hotter… would you be suspicious?
Harper
Always suspicious.
Naomi
Of hotter or husband?
Claire
Is this about gym selfies again?
Brielle
Hot is subjective.
?
Jason drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose in his lap, fingers tapping a rhythm against his jeans.
The city is all sodium vapor and brake lights—the kind of cold that makes everything look harder, sharper. Even the river haze seems cut clean where the bridges cross.
They don’t talk.
Not for the first ten minutes.
The silence isn’t awkward. It holds.
A live wire stretched between them, humming with everything neither of them is saying.
Brielle feels it in her body.
She sits with her knees pressed together, coat in her lap, the weight of the red dress still present against her skin. She watches the streetlights flick past and forces herself to catalog it—the air, the pulse in her throat, the seatbelt pressing into her sternum like a hand keeping her in place.
She wants to speak.
The words don’t survive long enough to reach her mouth.
She isn’t afraid.
She isn’t even nervous.
She’s just… awake.
At the third red light, she catches his reflection in the windshield.
He’s watching her.
He doesn’t look away.
She breaks first.
“You meant it.”
Flat. Not a question.
Jason’s mouth shifts—something softer than a smile.
“I always mean it.”
He says it like a promise.
She turns back to the window, breath fogging the glass. “I don’t know if I do,” she says. “Or if I ever did.”
He nods once, letting that sit.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “Not yet.”
Not comfort.
Just truth.
Outside, the city blurs—headlights, neon, motion she can’t quite hold onto. She presses her fingers to her temple, feels the pulse there, steady and too fast.
“I thought I’d feel different,” she says after a while.
Jason’s hand leaves the wheel and settles on her knee, just above the hemline.
Light.
Intentional.
“How do you feel?”
She doesn’t answer.
Not because she won’t.
Because she can’t.
Her mind flickers—Leo at the door, that almost-look, Jason’s hand at her back, the quiet permission still echoing.
I’m not afraid of being wanted.
That part is clear.
I’m afraid of what I might do with it.
Jason doesn’t push.
He lets the silence hold again.
?
He parks behind The Mason, kills the engine.
The car ticks as it cools.
He looks at her.
Really looks.
For a moment, she feels it—being seen without needing to respond.
“You want to go in?” he asks.
She does.
She doesn’t.
She nods anyway.
He comes around to open her door. She lets him. His hand slides up her arm as she steps out—steady, familiar, and not neutral anymore.
?
Inside, the restaurant is dim, all dark wood and candlelight, the air thick with butter and heat.
They’re seated quickly.
At the good table.
They order.
And then there’s a moment—
Brielle glances at her phone and realizes she’s expecting something.
Not from the babysitter.
Not from her mom.
From Leo.
She checks.
Nothing.
Relief and disappointment knot together, tight and immediate.
She sets the phone down.
Tries to focus—on the table, on Jason, on the fact that this is her birthday.
But her body won’t settle.
Her skin feels new. Unfinished. Like something she’s been shedding for years finally slipped free.
Jason orders dessert without asking.
When it arrives, he pushes the first spoonful toward her—not as apology, not as distraction.
As if this is what they’re doing now.
Trusting each other through it.
She takes it.
It’s perfect.
Her hands shake when she swallows.
She hides them under the table.
Jason sees.
Doesn’t say anything.
Just lets her have it.
They talk.
Kids. The neighbor’s dog. A news story about a sinkhole.
Nothing.
Everything.
The tension never leaves.
But it doesn’t feel wrong.
Just… present.
?
When the check comes, Jason pays without looking at her.
On the way out, her phone vibrates.
A security alert.
She opens it.
The kids are on the couch.
Leo in the background, lit by the TV, arm stretched across the back, relaxed.
The kids lean into him without thinking.
It looks easy.
Normal.
She shows Jason.
He smiles.
Hands the phone back.
Simple.
Trust.
It hits harder than anything else tonight.
?
They walk to the car in silence.
This time, it doesn’t feel fragile.
They’ve crossed something.
Not broken.
Just… different.
?
In the driveway, the porch light is on.
Brielle sits for a second, watching it.
Feeling the tremor in her hands ease.
Jason turns toward her.
“You ready?”
She isn’t.
But she wants to know what happens next.
She reaches for the door.
The cold metal bites into her palm.
Sharp.
Clear.
Right.