Page 32 of Homewrecker

I went home, washed off my makeup, wrapped my hair, put the black dress back on its hanger, and ignored Caleb when he sent one final text.

Caleb: I really am sorry.

For two weeks, Caleb Whitmore became nothing more than a married former client whose number remained in my phone because there were still invoices, warranty documents, and final project details connecting us.

I told myself I had handled it and that I’d walked away before anything happened. Whatever attraction existed between us had officially died at that restaurant table after that one word... Married.

And technically, I was right. I didn’t become Caleb’s mistress that night. I didn’t kiss him, sleep with him, or tell him that I’d wait. I left.

The mistake came later.

5

Blair

I had been at speed dating for twenty minutes and I’d already rejected a married man, a man who said he was “basically divorced,” and a man who referred to his ex-wife as “crazy” before learning my last name.

Growth looked different for everyone. Mine looked like a clipboard and trust issues.

“You’re doing too much.”

I looked across the room at Klair. She’d come with me for moral support. By moral support, I meant she had ordered mozzarella sticks, taken the best seat near the bar, and spent the entire night judging my decisions while having absolutely no romantic investment in the outcome.

“I’m screening.”

“You asked that last man if his divorce decree had been signed.”

“He said he was divorced.”

“But you asked for paperwork.”

“I asked if paperwork existed.”

“Same thing, Blair.”

The bell rang, and I looked down at the little card in front of me.

Seven minutes per man and apparently love had been reduced to the same amount of time I gave my clients to decide whether they hated a wallpaper sample.

A chair scraped across from me and man number six sat down.

He was handsome, but everyone looked better when they knew they only had a few minutes to disappoint you.

He smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Dean.”

“Blair.”

“So what brings you here?”

“My sister.”

Klair raised her mozzarella stick from across the room like she’d heard her name.

Dean laughed.