“Can you stay?” I gesture to the chair beside me. “We’re just getting ready to order.”
“No, I gotta get back to Julienne. I like to be there on weekends. Remember you’ve still got a standing invitation. Next time I won’t even put you to work.” He nods at Kelsey. “Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah. You too.”
“Bye, Liv. Good to see you.”
“You too, Tyler.”
I watch him go. I don’t really care that Kelsey is looking at me like she’s trying very, very hard not to interrogate me.
I haven’t done anything wrong. And Tyler’s compliments and admiration make me feel good. Frankly it’s nice to feel that way these days.
Our food arrives, and I ask Kelsey about her work as we eat. Ranting about her fellow professors is enough to keep her off the subject of Tyler, and by the time she drops me off at home she seems to have forgotten about him.
I don’t forget about him, though.
I lie in the big, empty bed and think about him and all his accomplishments and the easygoing way he has with people. I think about his vast knowledge of food, how he can debone a chicken within minutes, how he knows the exact temperature to cook a scallop, and how he can identify every cut of beef. He even knows how to make a perfect risotto.
I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed. Tyler is like Dean in some ways. Both of them possess an encyclopedic knowledge of their fields. Both are accomplished, dedicated, wholly passionate about their work. Both excel at what they do.
I press my hand against Dean’s cold pillow, then fumble for the phone on the nightstand. “Dean?”
“Hey, beauty. Did you get my voicemail?”
“Yes. I…” I curl my fingers into the pillow. “Just wanted to talk to you.”
“How was your day?”
“Fine. I had dinner with Kelsey. She says hi. She wants you to bring her back some peach preserves.”
“Do you want anything?”
“I want you to come home.”
“Four days only. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“I love you too.”
He’s already hung up, so I don’t know if he heard me. I drop the phone back onto the cradle and close my eyes.
If Dean had been sleeping beside me, I don’t know if I would have dreamed about Tyler Wilkes. I’ll never know. But I dream about him now—a dream that’s slow and easy and sweaty.
I dream about his body, compact and firm with a light mat of blond hair scattered over his chest. I dream about the way his mouth would feel against the bare skin of my shoulder, my throat, my breasts. I dream about his weight on top of me, how we’d fit together, how it would feel to wrap my legs around his hips. I imagine his skin smells like fresh herbs and citrus, that his hair feels thick and smooth like straw.
When I wake, I’m damp with perspiration, and my blood throbs a restless beat. I shift around, resisting the urge to press my fingers between my thighs, to rub the ache away.
I roll to my side, breathing hard, wincing as my sex pulses with the movement.
This is not what I expected. Not what I want.
I haven’t felt so shaken, so uncertain, in years. Since before I met Dean. I thought the whole reason I started considering the idea of having children was because I’ve put my past behind me, I love my husband, we’re settled in Mirror Lake, my life has become what I always wanted but never had before—secure, happy, safe…
So what the hell am I doing having an erotic dream about another man?
And what the fuck else has my husband not told me?
The anger I’ve been suppressing breaks loose like a swarm of bees.
I press my hands to my eyes. My heart is beating too fast. I force my mind back to our conversation, everything Dean said about his relationship with Helen. His first wife.
“I shouldn’t have relied on her to deal with birth control. But I did, and that’s what happened.”
All thoughts of Tyler Wilkes dissolve into the pool of dread spreading through my entire being.
I climb out of bed, pushing the covers aside. I yank open the drawer of Dean’s nightstand and look at the box of condoms inside. There’s another one in the bathroom. And a third in the drawer of a table beside the sofa. I’ve known for years where Dean keeps the condoms, but now it’s like I’m finding them for the first time.
Is that why Dean always used condoms with me, even when I tried birth control pills? Was it because of Helen’s betrayal? Did he think I’d do the same thing?
The thought makes me cold. Doubts flood me again—Dean’s reluctance to talk about a baby, Maggie Hamilton’s ugly insinuations, the secrets Dean and I both harbored so that we wouldn’t ruin the illusion of who we were supposed to be.
He was always the successful overachiever. I was always the good girl. God forbid anything should destroy the images we fought so hard to maintain.