Clint’s tousled gray-streaked hair frames his peaceful face. Overnight stubble blurs his strong jawline. I run my finger from his perfect ear to his chin. His eyes slowly open.
“Good morning.”
He hooks me around my waist and pulls me toward him, his hands at the ties of my robe.
“We have visitors.” I say the words with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
“Someone’s here?” He fists the plush straps instead of tugging at them.
“A bunch of reporters outside. Probably need to get dressed.” I screw up my face.
My husband groans and then gently hauls me down until our lips meet.
Fifteen minutes later, showered and shaved, Clint decides to address the contingent on the lawn. He asks me if I want to join him. No. I prefer not to get my picture taken outside my house under some dodgy headline about defacement of affluent suburbia. He kisses me on my forehead and heads out. As soon as he’s gone, I question if we should have called someone for advice. Are reporters like raccoons? If you feed them, do they just keep coming back?
I head to the kitchen to finish packing the perishables for the cabin. We can never have enough yogurt in our family. I throw in smoothie ingredients, including the goat whey stuff.
Within minutes, Clint is sauntering to the coffee maker.
“Went well?”
“I confirmed our garage had been spray-painted. Didn’t know by who.” He pours the coffee into a large insulated travel mug. “They knew about the car in the garage. That was a surprise. I told them the police were handling it and left.”
“They were satisfied?”
“Definitely not,” he scoffs.
“Then why do you look so smug?”
“Because I love my wife.” He says it as if it ends all other matters.
Something releases in my chest. “You’re a goof.”
“I’m your goof.” He takes a sip from his mug.
The thought of black coffee on an empty stomach makes my belly churn.
“I’m definitely peeved about the police leak though.” Clint sets his mug down a bit hard on the granite. “Having all these reporters show up like this is ridiculous. But I just can’t be bothered to caremuch.” He leans up against the counter, looking very much like Erika yesterday. “I’d convinced myself you’d stepped out on me.”
I finish zipping the insulated pack and straighten. I don’t want to go back to this, but I’m here for it if it keeps him talking.
“Maybe not a full-blown affair,” he says. “I refused to allow those thoughts, but the idea of an emotional affair has haunted me. I’ve been in protection mode for so long I forgot how to... how to see us.”
“Weeks of therapy. Why didn’t you say something?” I frown. So much wasted time.
“Didn’t want the answer,” he says with a frankness that looks good on him.
I nod. “How do we protect our marriage? How do we not find ourselves right back here?”
“I was wrong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was wrong that talking to Lucas was worse than having an affair.” His dark lashes close over his soft eyes.
I slide up next to him.
He speaks into my loose hair. “I do not want that man in our lives, but I do understand why you thought it would help me heal.”
