Chapter 6
Cody
“You are not going to work?”
“Yeah, I am not going to work for the next two weeks,” Rain says. She looks up from her mug, giving a slow shake of her head.
“Perks of being the head of legal, I guess?”
“Not really. I was due to take this time off anyway.”
“That means you have not made use of your days off,” I say.
“Yes,” she admits, leaning back against the dining chair.
“Why?”
“Well, it was too boring to stay home,” she says. “So... now that you are here, I have decided to take what is owed to me.”
She brings the mug back to her lips, taking a slow sip.
“Coffee?”
“Nope. I’m a tea person.”
“Oh, I see.” I nod toward her.
As she sets the mug down, the kitchen lights catch the rich, light brown color of her hair. The strands fall differently, framing her face in a way that feels unfamiliar.
“You had a haircut?”
She lifts her head from her phone, her gaze locking onto mine. She gives a slow, deliberate nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. How did you figure that out?”
I squint slightly, my brows lifting. “Well, I take notice of things around me. And people, too.” I add the last part quickly, realizing how cold it might sound to group her in with the rest of the room.
“I see. Well, yeah, I did have a haircut after dropping off the kids this morning.”
I nod, the stillness creeping back into the space. With nothing left to say, I grip my crutches and navigate the path back up the stairs to the master bedroom.
After completing the slow, frustrating routine of taking a bath with a sprained ankle, I make my way back downstairs for breakfast. As I reach the bottom step, my eyes land on her. She is standing in front of the pantry, balanced high on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the very top shelf.
My heart skips a beat. The oversized polo shirt she wears as sleepwear rides up with the stretch of her arms, exposing the soft curve of her lower thighs and the edge of her rear.
I freeze on the bottom step. A man can only endure so much celibacy before the mind begins to wander, and the woman stretching before me is my wife.
I shift my crutches forward, intending to step in and reach the shelf for her. Just as I move, her heel slips. Her body sways, but she quickly catches her balance against the edge of the counter. Before I can reach her side, the ring of the doorbell echoes through the entryway.
Rain snaps her head around, her eyes landing directly on me as if she had felt my presence behind her the entire time.
“I’ll get that,” she says, her cheeks flushing slightly as she smooths down the hem of her shirt. “Please help me get the flour down from the cupboard.”
I give a tight nod, my mind still trapped in the image of her curves against the dark wood of the cabinetry.
She pulls the front door wide open. “Hey, Mario!”
A well-dressed man, younger than her and impeccably put together, strolls into our house. Without a second of hesitation, he steps into her space and pulls her into a tight, lingering hug.
My jaw tightens. A hard knot forms in my stomach as I watch the way his arms wrap around her waist. I hope this guy swings the other way, I think bitterly, because that hold looks too familiar. A thick dryness clogs my throat. I clear it loudly, the sound vibrating in the entryway.
“Who is this, Rain?”
She withdraws from the embrace, finally turning her head to acknowledge me standing nearby.
“Oh, this is my guy, Mario,” she says, a bright smile on her face. “He is in the legal department, and he is my friend, handyman, and caretaker when I am overwhelmed.”
“He comes around?” My voice sounds stiffer than I intend.
“Yeah, he helps out sometimes. He has even taken on the role of an uncle to the kids, right Mario?”
The younger man offers a slight, sheepish nod. My chest burns at the sight of his perfectly white, bleached smile. He walks right past Rain, stepping deep into my kitchen, and stretches his hand out toward me.
“I’m Mario.”
I look past his outstretched hand to my wife, who is busy shutting the front door. Then my gaze drops back to his face, and a surge of heat rushes through my veins. The irritation causes my fingers to clamp down hard on the handles of my crutches until my knuckles turn white.
“Yes.” I take his hand, my grip tightening a fraction more than necessary.
“I have heard a lot about you,” Mario says, his tone smooth.
A defensive wall goes up in my mind. Curious to know exactly what kind of complaints Rain has shared with a coworker, I open my mouth to ask, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“They are all good things, don’t worry.”
He turns away from me, his eyes drifting back to Rain as she moves around the kitchen island. He watches her move, his gaze lingering on the line of her back with a soft, unmistakable longing.
The small amount of tolerance I had for this guy vanishes. An ache throbs in my injured ankle, mirroring the agitation building within me. I pivot on my good foot, limping heavily as I retreat toward the safety of the living room couch.
“You taking pancakes?” her voice calls out over the sizzle of the pan.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” I call back, sinking into the cushions.
I lean my head back against the sofa, but the way he looked at her stays burned into the back of my mind, refusing to fade.