Chapter 20
LATE NIGHTS AND LOOSE ENDS
WILL
It was Friday night, just before nine. Natalie would be over soon. Don’t push anything, I told myself. Things felt natural so far, but still, she was married, and I was starting to feel like “the other guy.”
That label didn’t sit well with me. I’d never been in this kind of situation. My life was always about control and avoiding complications. But nothing about Natalie felt simple. She made me want to ignore the rules, forget about boundaries, and see where this could go.
When she showed up at my door, wearing black leggings that clung in all the right ways and an old Indiana University hoodie that looked like it was her favorite sweatshirt, I thought how beautiful she looked.
Her hair was pulled up, with a few loose strands around her face.
No makeup. No performance. Just her. Maybe that’s why I can never stop looking at her, because she never seemed like she was trying to be anything other than exactly who she was.
And somehow, that only made her more impossible to ignore.
She stepped inside, shifting her laptop bag on her shoulder. I tried not to look surprised. So, this was apparently still a “work thing”—a late-night work thing?
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me, herself, or both of us.
“I figured I could show you a few ideas I had in mind,” she said, slipping off her shoes by the door.
“Sure,” I said and led her into the kitchen.
She followed me in, quiet, her bag still hanging from one shoulder like she wasn’t sure how long she planned to stay.
I opened the fridge. “Still like Sauvignon Blanc?”
“I do,” she said with a soft smile.
I poured two glasses and handed her one. Our fingers brushed. She didn’t pull back, but she didn’t say a word either.
She set her glass down on the counter and pulled her laptop from the bag.
“I was thinking we could start with fabrics, pillow options, and some wallpaper ideas. I mocked up a few of the rooms.”
She sat at the barstool but angled the laptop so I could see it. I stayed standing for a moment, watching her navigate the trackpad with quick, practiced movements. Then I moved beside her, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo, something light, citrusy, clean.
Our arms brushed as I leaned in to see the screen. She didn’t move, she clicked right into a presentation. Sconces, wallpaper swatches. Fabric samples for the pillows, some artwork.
Her choices would add warmth and elegance to the house while still keeping the vibe I wanted. It was as if she could read my mind and pull out the best parts of my style, a style that wasn’t even showing in this place.
“These are great,” I gazed down at her. “This one especially,” I pointed at the screen.
“Great choice, a subtle navy grasscloth, and it has that copper undertone when the light hits it just right.”
I let my hand drift to the edge of the counter, behind hers. Not quite touching. Close enough that if either of us moved even a little, we would be.
She clicked again, landing on a large abstract painting. “Do you like this?” she asked, pointing toward the image. “I thought it might work in the hallway or even over the console in the entry.”
I studied it for a second. The piece had tones of charcoal and soft blues and looked rough around the edges.
“I like it,” I said, though I wasn’t really looking at the screen anymore.
She stayed still.
The silence stretched, thick. Her eyes lifted to mine. We were facing each other. Her knee brushed mine, this time she leaned into it.
She looked up at me like she was waiting for something.
I felt the urge to kiss her. The way her lips curved into a soft smile, the faint freckles across her nose—it was all too much.
Slowly, carefully, I put one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist, pulling her gently toward me.
She didn’t resist. She exhaled slowly. Her breath was warm against my skin.
I traced over the freckle on her nose, her lips, and then kept moving my finger down her neck. Her skin was soft, and her breathing hitched as my hand lingered. It felt electric, like the moment before a lightning strike.
I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, letting my fingers trail along her jaw.
Her lips parted. Her eyes didn’t leave mine.
Suddenly, we heard the rumbling from the garage.
Natalie pulled back quickly; her face flushed. Her hand shot to her laptop, closing it. The moment collapsed between us.
The garage door finished rumbling loud and jarring, cutting clean through everything. I started to head towards the garage to see who it was. The garage door clicked before I made it, and I turned to see Madison standing there, tears streaming down her face.
“Madison, are you okay?” I asked, worried.
She was wiping her eyes, looking like she’d been crying for a while. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Of course,” I said, instantly refocusing on her. The timing was insane, but my daughter needed me. As she walked into the kitchen, she noticed Natalie, who was already packed up and heading toward the door.
“I’m Natalie, the designer,” she introduced herself quickly. “And I was just heading out.”
Madison looked at her with a confused expression, probably wondering why my designer was here at ten p.m.
I walked Natalie to the door, sensing her discomfort. She was clearly ready to leave. As she stepped out, I quickly texted her.
Will: I’m so sorry.
Back in the kitchen, Madison gave me a look that told me she didn’t quite buy the “designer” explanation.
“Designer?” she asked skeptically.
“Need to find time to redo the house.” I tried to redirect. “So, what’s going on?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Mom and I had a fight. She won’t let me go riding on Sunday because she wants me to meet someone. Apparently, she has a new boyfriend.”
That caught me off guard. A boyfriend? Kelly mentioned she was dating, but I didn’t realize it was serious enough for introductions.
“And I guess you have a new girlfriend?” Madison added pointedly, her eyes narrowing.
I shook my head. “Natalie’s just the designer, Madison, like I said. Look,” I pulled up a photo on my phone, “she found this art piece for your room.”
She glanced at the picture, clearly impressed by the choice, but muttered, “It’s nice, I guess.”
After Madison vented a little more, I suggested we put on a movie.
She picked something nostalgic, one of those animated films she used to watch on repeat when she was younger.
As we sat on the couch, I noticed how small she seemed, curled up under a blanket.
It reminded me of when she was little and would climb into my lap after a bad day.
Back then, it was easy to make things better; a hug, a bedtime story, a silly joke could fix almost anything.
By midnight, Madison was asleep. I gently tucked the blanket around her and texted Kelly to let her know Madison was here.
For a moment, I considered asking about this new boyfriend, but decided it was better to hold off.
Kelly introducing someone to the kids felt premature without bringing it to my attention first, but maybe that was my own bias.
I grabbed my phone and checked to see if Natalie had responded to my earlier text. She hadn’t. I stared at the screen for a moment, debating whether to send another message, but I stopped myself. She was probably just as rattled by what happened as I was.
With a heavy sigh, I put the phone down and headed to bed. As I lay there, my mind replayed the evening—the moment with Natalie, the look on Madison’s face, the way she had said, And I guess you have a new girlfriend?
What was I doing? Natalie was married. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but when I thought about the way she looked at me, and the way her breath hitched when I touched her neck, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. I wanted her, and I wasn’t sure if I cared about the consequences.