“Who’s hot?” She repeats her question. Her voice sounds unsure, but not freaked out.
Maybe she didn’t see the rest of the message thread?
When I still don’t answer, she rounds the bench and comes to sit next to me, placing Blake back into her stroller and covering her with blankets so only her face is exposed.
Billie might not have planned to become a mother at this point in her life, but she sure as shit is a natural. So much of her reminds me of my parents before they passed, especially the caring look in her eyes—like she’d find a way to part the oceans if that’s what it took to keep her child safe and happy.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” Billie clarifies, offering Blake her pacifier. “I shouldn’t have read the text, letting curiosity get the better of me.”
I reach up, adjusting my glasses, and Billie tracks the movement, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she does.
“It’s no one you know. Just someone I met on an away series.”
The lie sounds believable, and I hate that I’m being dishonest with her. The last person I want to deceive is Billie. However, in this situation, I don’t have much choice.
It’s like she’s looking through me as I finish up my sentence, her mind wandering to another place.
“I can only imagine how hard it is to move on from a marriage.” She sits back on the bench, diverting her attention to the duck pond. “It must feel like a bomb has gone off in your life.”
“Yes, and no.” My response is automatic and brutally honest, almost like my subconscious is trying to make up for the lie I just told.
Billie’s eyes dart to mine, big green irises holding me captive. “What do you mean?”
A seed of doubt blooms in the pit of my stomach. I’m unsureof how much to divulge. Maria is still a huge part of Freya and Scott’s life, and the last thing I want to do is throw shade on my ex-wife. At some point, it’s inevitable that we’ll cross paths, and ultimately, what goes down in a marriage should almost always die with it too. That thought isn’t enough to stop me from sharing with Billie though, the words tumbling from me with relative ease.
“Maria’s paranoia and constant accusations over me being unfaithful drove a huge wedge into an already-failing marriage.”
Elbows braced on my knees, I clasp my hands underneath my chin and look at her.
Nothing in Billie’s expression indicates surprise. Maria was the master at masking her insecurities, carrying off a barrage of passive-aggressive comments with an easy smile, just like she did that night in Lloyd’s bar.
“Emmett.”
When Billie says my name but nothing more, I hold my breath, equal parts anxious and intrigued over what she’ll say next.
“Billie,” I counter, playfully nudging my knee against her thigh.
She chews on her thumb, the tension in her body language making me realize that there’s nothing playful about this moment.
Above the sounds of wildlife and the whistling breeze, I hear myself swallow.
Billie does the same before quietly asking, “Did … Maria ever accuse you of having a thing with me?”
Fuck.
A dismissive laugh tries to rise up my throat, but fails under the weight of reality or maybe even the truth.
“Having a thing with you?” I repeat. “No. Flirting with you the last Christmas before you left for Austin? Yes.”
Wide eyes grow even wider as she stares back at me, jaw agape. “Really?”
I nod because that’s all I’m capable of.
Billie chews on her thumb again, and like a freaking idiot, I reach up and wrap my palm around her fingers, pulling her hand away from her mouth.
I should let go, but I don’t, maintaining our connection way longer than necessary.
Her soft palm fits perfectly in my hand, reminding me of the real truth in the last message I sent to Sawyer—there’s no way I could ever make a move on Billie Quinn. It would be safer to pull the pin from a hand grenade and hold it to my chest until it detonated.
