Chapter 29
YOU CAN SHARE IT
Hayes
A few weeks ago, I was considering camping out at Gage’s bar to resist Ivy.
Now I’m indulging in temptation.
On Friday afternoon, I hit the gym down the street for a workout, and when I leave, I spot a flash of dark wavy hair.
My wife is walking quickly up the block.
She’s wearing a cute pink sundress that’s temptingly short and high-top Converse sneakers.
She posted a piece this morning about what to wear when you want to feel like your best self. Is that what she’s doing right now?
Impulsively, I pick up the pace and draw up next to her.
“Hey. Did you just come from a meeting about a potential gig?” I ask.
“How did you know?” she asks, slowing her speed.
“This outfit seems to hit that mark. Like you feel like your best self.”
A smile tips her lips. “I met with an editor for a fashion site. She might have some work for me.” She crosses her fingers. Then she gives in to curiosity and asks, “You read my newsletter?”
“Yes. Every piece.”
Her gaze softens more, her eyes dancing. “I didn’t know that. I knew Stefan did.”
“We both do,” I add. “He just likes to brag about it.”
She laughs then takes a beat, tilting her head, then surprising me when she says, “You have a telescope.”
“That’s random.”
“It’s yours, right? On the rooftop?”
The question seems important to her, like the answer will give her insight. I get an antsy feeling like I’ve drunk too much coffee. Like I need to pop on my headphones and blast music too loud to think. Things I feel when I don’t want to open up.
But Ivy’s eyes are wide with genuine curiosity. Another temptation I can’t resist—giving her this piece of the puzzle. “I like stars. And planets.”
“They go together,” she says wryly.
“My granddads are really into astronomy,” I tell her. That’s the simple part. The rest is not. “My dad and I had a complicated relationship when I was younger. We still do. I spent more time with his parents than with him. I’m closer to them.”
She only seems puzzled for a moment, then it clicks, and she asks, “Your dad has two dads?”
“Yes. Ryan and Bryan.”
“That’s adorable. Their matching names.”
“They’re adorable and ornery.”
“What are they like?” she asks as we walk.
“They run an ice rink in Petaluma. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger.”
“Did you drive a Zamboni?” She doesn’t hide her excitement at that prospect.
“I did, and it’s as fun as it sounds.”
“I’m jealous. But tell me more about your granddads.”
“They like to camp, and they took me with them a lot as a kid. They taught me everything I know about stars and planets and got me hooked on astronomy. Bryan is a sharp dresser and Ryan has horrible fashion sense. He wears white socks with sandals despite my efforts to stop him. I had to try again this morning,” I say, shuddering.
She squeezes my arm sympathetically. “Hate to break it to you but that’s trendy now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“When I talk to them, I’m going to pretend you never said that.”
“I’ll back you up if it comes to it.” That feels good, her support, even in a playful way. We chat more as we head inside our building then into the elevator. When it reaches the eighth floor, she says, “Thanks for telling me all that.”
Something warm spreads in my chest. But I say nothing, just nod and give a faint smile.
“I should go write. But before I see you guys tonight, I’ll send you a pre-ward.” She heads down the hall, leaving me wondering what these little moments will be like when this thing between us ends.
How awkward they’ll be.
How uncomfortable they’ll be.
Or if I’ll see her around at all.
Until then, I go to my home and call my dad. I don’t love chatting with him, but I should be a good son and touch base. As I straighten up the apartment, he tells me the latest on his proposal plans for Cora, and I listen, chiming in with that’s great.
A little later, I take off to meet Stefan. We’re shopping for Ivy’s gifts, and as we’re out and about, my phone pings with an artsy black and white shot from Ivy. Of the swell of her breast. The outline of her piercing. The curves of her torso. Then, the words, You can share it.
I show it to Stefan, and we admire it together in the store. “I want a whole fucking boudoir shoot of this woman,” I say.
“Bet she’d love that too. We’re going to have so much fun with your wife tonight,” he says, satisfaction already in his tone.
“Yes, we fucking are.”
We tell her as much in our group chat, and I count down the hours, trying not to think too much on how quickly I’ve gone from resistance to addiction.