Running into each other at the car felt like a snapshot from another life, it gave me a rush. After that, I thought we might have been flirting, just a little. The possibility ignited something in me, a spark I hadn’t felt in years.
I may have invited her over. Unintentionally. I hope I didn’t scare her. I could have sworn the banter, the attraction, betweenus was mutual. You don’t just imagine this kind of subtle back-and forth. But it was killing me that I couldn’t go all in.
I was slammed at work over the next week and couldn’t make it to school pick-up. Those moments, seeing her, brief as they were, were something I looked forward to. They were a flicker of something different in my otherwise predictable days. I hated missing it. Seeing Ivy’s face light up when she spotted me always made my day, even if the boys thought I was uncool. I loved being there.
I also hate to admit this but, it wasn’t just about them anymore. I missed running into Natalie. There was something about seeing her in those in-between moments. There was a pull every time our eyes met.
I started thinking about the conversation Natalie and I had during the playdate about interior design. She hadn’t brought it up again, but I couldn’t stop imagining what her insight could bring to my house. Her home had a warmth mine lacked, it showed me a life I wanted to recreate for my kids. Reaching out felt risky, but I decided to take the plunge and drop her a text.
Will: Hi Natalie, I’ve been thinking I’d like your help with interior design. If you’re up for the challenge.
I sent it and waited. And waited. She didn’t reply right away, and the silence was maddening. Was she deliberately making me wait, or was she just busy? Or worse, fully aware this crossed a line? The uncertainty felt like a game I wasn’t sure how to play.
When her reply came two days later, relief and doubt hit me all at once.
Natalie: I think we could arrange that. How about next Thursday morning?
Will: I could make that work, how about eleven a.m.?
Natalie: That works great. Send your address and I’ll be there.
This gave me time to think.Was I really inviting her into my house to talk about furniture? Or was this just an excuse to see her again?
The week crawled by. My house was spotless but it felt hollow, lacking the one thing her home seemed to have in abundance—soul. I wondered if she’d notice. Would she see the emptiness I saw?
I told myself this was about creating something warmer for the kids. But deep down, I knew better. I didn’t need her opinion on throw pillows. I just wanted to see her again.
The thought of her stepping into my space felt personal in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Intimate, even. I wasn’t sure what I wanted her to see, or more importantly, what I didn’t.
Natalie made me question myself in ways that felt unfamiliar and unsettling.
I couldn’t stay away; there was a definite spark between us, I thought.
As the days crept closer to her visit, I wrestled with my motives. What did I really want from this visit? Was it just a chance to be near her, to see if there was something between us that wasn’t just in my head?
Natalie was married, with a family and a life outside of the fleeting conversational moments we shared. And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what might happen if I leaned into this pull I felt toward her instead of resisting it. Maybe it was a midlife crisis. Maybe it was something real. As I stood in what I increasingly saw as my sterile, lifeless house, waiting for the dayshe would walk through my door, I realized I was willing to risk finding out.
CHAPTER 14
THE FINE LINE BETWEEN PROFESSIONAL AND PERSONAL
NATALIE
Thursday arrived, my day to visit Will’s house. I hadn’t worked in so long I wasn’t even sure what to wear or bring. I ordered a small notebook to take notes, something I used to do often. I even dug out my old Canon camera, charged it up, and slipped it into my bag, even though I realized I could always just take photos with my phone. It all felt a little odd, like I was stepping into a version of myself I hadn’t seen in years. I still wasn’t sure whether I was simply trying to help him design his home or if there was something more going on. A part of me felt like I was walking a tightrope, and I didn’t know which side I’d fall on.
I spent an embarrassing amount of time stressing over my outfit. I finally settled on a classy houndstooth skirt, a black fitted turtleneck, and high black boots. I waved my hair, feeling good about the look. It felt polished but approachable; professional enough to justify my visit but with just a touch ofsomething else. The question that lingered, though, was:Who was I dressing for? The job or for him?
I arrived at Will’s house at 10:55 a.m., a little early. He pulled into the driveway just as I did. His house was modern, all sharp lines, large windows, clean, and minimalistic. This is definitely not my style, but I could see its appeal. Still, the entryway felt lifeless, almost clinical. I pulled out my notebook and quickly scribbled,More plants. Maybe pots with texture.
Will waved me in through the garage, and my heart skipped when I saw him in his suit. He looked so polished and put together, like someone who had his life completely under control.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, almost apologetically. “I had a meeting that ran over.”
“If you call five minutes early, ‘late’ then sure,” I said quickly, smiling.
He smiled back, and my knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.
He led me through the garage, which was mostly empty, aside from the Escalade he drives when picking up the kids from school; no surprise for a house that still seemed to be finding its footing.
