Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, but my dreams were restless. I woke up to the blaring alarm with a headache and the dull haze of a slight hangover. My stomach churned with a mix of guilt and anticipation.Would I see him later today?
The morning routine with the kids was a blur of cereal bowls, backpacks, and finding missing shoes. After dropping them off at school, I met Camille at Pilates, hoping the workout would clear my head. But the reformer felt like my enemy today. I was one wrong move away from collapsing into the springs beneath me. Camille took one look at me and gave a knowing smile.
“Late night?” she asked as we stretched.
“You could say that.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Do tell.”
I shook my head, avoiding her gaze. “Later.” I couldn’t help but grin.
The workout was brutal, and I was counting the seconds until the instructor finally called it quits. By the time it was over, I was drenched and desperate for caffeine. I invited Camille for coffee.
As we settled into a corner table at our favorite café, I decided to tell her the truth—or at least part of it.
“I took on a new design project,” I began, keeping my tone casual.
“Oh?” Camille’s curiosity was piqued. “Who’s the client?”
“A dad from school,” I said, trying to sound indifferent. “Recently divorced.”
Her eyes widened, and she leaned in. “And?”
“And nothing,” I lied. “We had drinks to go over the project, but we didn’t talk about it much.”
She arched her eyebrows. “So, it wasn’t a date, but it wasn’tnota date?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe.”
She studied me for a moment. Her expression was thoughtful. “Are you attracted to him?”
The question caught me off guard. “How can I not be?” I said, surprised by my honesty.
“Ah, the attraction,” Camille said, smiling like she’d caught me red handed. “True, he is very handsome.” Camille left it at that and didn’t press me further. But it was clear, even though I hadn’t named him, she knew exactly who my new client was.
I stirred my coffee, pretending to be distracted by the foam. “Anyway,” I said, forcing a lighter tone, “I think I’m going to redo a room of my own. The laundry room. I’m sick of staring at that awful tile.”
Camille tilted her head, amused but kind enough to let me change the subject. “It’s about time,” she said. “That tile is a crime against design.”
We talked about backsplash samples and storage hacks for another ten minutes before I glanced at the time and stood up to leave. “I should get home. Dreadful room or not, my laundry isn’t going to fold itself.”
Camille gave me a hug, and when she released me, her eyes were still searching for mine. “You know where to find me.” Her sentiment was a reminder that I had her friendship no matter what.
Back home, I tossed my keys onto the counter and stared at the growing mountain of laundry. The hum of silence settled over the house, too quiet, too still. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to my sister Meredith’s name.
“Hello there,” she said when she picked up, drawing out the words like she already knew something was up.
“Hey,” I replied, flopping onto the couch. “Got a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
There was a beat of silence before I sighed. “Jason and I have been…distant.”
“And?” she prompted. Her tone was laced with curiosity.
“And I picked up a new design client,” I said, changing the subject. “Single dad, recently divorced.”
Meredith didn’t miss a beat. “A new client, or a hot new client?”
