Fuck.
Dan will be able to tell, too. He always can. I stopped partying before competitions a long time ago because I was so tired of him reprimanding me over how unrested I looked in the morning.
Something in me sags when I see it isn’t a text from Poppy, but a notification from my doorbell camera instead.
There’s no preview of the footage, so I have to open the app to see what it is. Probably a reporter who missed the latest World Cup coverage, or someone trying to snoop around my house for intel while I’m not home.
The image is grainy, it’s just starting to get dark there, but the flash of dark hair that passes by the camera is unmistakable.
Poppy is at my house, and seeing her on my screen makes every fibre of me want to hop on the first flight out of here. Because as I watch her use the spare key I gave her to open the front door, it’s almost physically painful that I’m not going to be on the other side of it.
Waiting to pull her into my arms, breathe in the sweet floral scent of her.
If I were there, I would tell her that I fucked up, that I don’t want a divorce.
I’d hold her face in my hands while I tell her that she’s tamed my wild heart and now all it does is beat for her. I’d tell her that I’ll spend every day trying to be the best husband I can be, if she’d let me.
That’s the problem. After the way this all went down, I’m not so sure she will. It was my fault that we’re in this predicament, that the café is at risk. I just couldn’t help myself from making a stupid, snarky remark. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with me at all.
And maybe I should be giving her space to deal with the aftermath of the scandal, but I can’t help myself as I close the doorbell cam app and find our text thread.
She’s become my best friend, the only person I want to share big moments with.
Hell, I want to share every single mundane and insignificant moment with her, too. Because as much as I tried not to let it happen, I’ve fallen for my wife.
CHAPTER 46
POPPY
I easethe heavy wooden front door open, and step inside. The house is dark and quiet, but it smells like him. Like his woodsy cologne, but also the smell of his skin when he’s not wearing anything.
Gingerly, I step inside and set Cordelia down on the floor. I don’t know why I feel the need to sneak around here, Jett did give me his key. I guess now it feels like I don’t have the right to be here. But Cordelia wasn’t going to let up until I brought her over, and as predicted, she’s off like a flash in the direction of Jett’s room.
My phone chimes from the side pocket of my overnight bag and I reach around for it, pulling it out and jumping a bit when I see Jett’s name lighting up my screen. It’s like he can see me somehow, and I glance around for security cameras in the entry way, coming up short.
JETT
FYI, I had silent alarm installed.
Now my heart drops right through me, out my butt, and onto the floor. A silent alarm? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Is there a code? What do I do?
I don’t try to pretend I haven’t just snuck into Jett’s house, because the proverbial cat is already out of the bag, apparently.
Now, I’m frantically looking around for a panel on the wall that looks like it might help me shut off this alarm. I also keep glancing down at my phone screen, waiting for instructions before the police show up to arrest me.
That would be just my luck, and the last thing we need. Another click-bait headline.
JETT LANDRY’S EX-WIFE ARRESTED FOR BREAKING AND ENTERING.
I can just picture my low-resolution, highly unflattering mugshot that will accompany it.
Jett’s three dots indicating he’s typing pop up and then disappear a couple of times.
“Come on…” I mutter, still wandering through the house looking for a control panel. This is so embarrassing.
Finally, my phone chimes again, and I look quickly at the conversation.
