Page 41 of Homewrecker

I locked my phone and Klair watched me.

“You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Nothing.” She stood. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To your house.”

“The event isn’t over.”

“It is for you. You’re not giving anyone after ‘Doctor Fine Shit’ a fair shot.”

“He’s not—”

“Save it.”

She grabbed her purse and I stood and followed her toward the exit.

My phone buzzed again, but I didn’t check it until we got outside.

Nash: I’d like to take you out. A real date this time. No timer.

I stared at the words. I stood beneath the parking-lot lights staring at my phone. All I had to do was say yes. That should’ve been easy. Instead, Ravenna’s face flashed through my mind. Then Caleb. Then the headlines. Then the comments. Then every client who disappeared from my bookings. Every friend who stopped inviting me around. Every wife who looked at me like I might recognize something in her husband she hadn’t.

Maybe Klair was right. Maybe I did punish myself whenever life started feeling too soft. Maybe I thought happiness was something I hadn’t earned yet.

My phone dimmed, but I tapped the screen awake.

Blair: Okay. One date.

Nash: That’s all I’m asking for.

I shut my eyes, telling myself that Nash wasn’t Caleb. And maybe more importantly, I wasn’t that Blair anymore.

I slipped my phone into my purse and followed Klair toward the car. I’d finally said yes to something I wanted. I just wished wanting it didn’t still feel so much like doing something wrong.

6

Blair

BEFORE

For thirteen days, I did exactly what I said I would do. I left Caleb Whitmore alone.

He sent one apology the night of our date, and I didn’t respond. He didn’t send another, and that didn’t make things easier because, apparently my ego had expected a married man to respect my boundary while simultaneously being sorta devastated by it.

Humans were ridiculous. I was the ridiculous human.

Still, thirteen days passed. Every morning I woke up a little less irritated. Caleb had almost returned to what he should’ve been from the beginning. A former client with an outstanding invoice. Which was exactly why his name appeared on my phone at 10 on a Tuesday morning.

I stared at it. My stomach reacted before my brain did. I let it ring, then my office line rang. Janelle poked her head around the corner of my office.

“Whitmore.”

“I see that.”