Out of sight.
Just in case Sage shows up early.
No need for questions.
No need for her to know.
I change in the bar bathroom.
Gym shorts. Hoodie. Sneakers.
I look like exactly who I told her I’d be.
I fold my gig shirt carefully anyway—like it matters—and tuck it into the trunk beside the guitar. Close it gently. Like if I don’t slam it, the secret will behave.
Then I drive home. My BMW glides smoothly, the lease payment I made yesterday keeping me in the drivers seat. I never sweated money before—was always responsible evenwhen I indulged myself. But being with her? Sage? She was a woman who I wanted to give the finer things in life to.
She’s already there.
Not pacing. Not impatient.
Sitting on the stoop like she belongs there.
Knees tucked up. Overnight bag at her feet. Paper grocery sack beside it, a baguette poking out the top like a cartoon.
For a second, guilt hits me sharp and stupid.
She was waiting.
But it’s not like I cheated.
Not like I did anything wrong.
I park and cut the engine.
She looks up and smiles like she’s been waiting all day just for that moment.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I answer, softer than I mean to.
She stands, brushes her hands on her dress. “I thought I’d make something special for a late dinner. Then maybe we could walk to Blockbuster?”
My chest tightens.
I kiss her, slow and grateful. “Baby. That sounds perfect.”
I grab her bag and the groceries before she can argue and carry everything upstairs.
“I’m gonna shower real quick,” I tell her. “Make yourself at home.”
She already has.
When I come out, towel around my waist, hair damp?—
She’s barefoot at the stove.
Garlic sizzling in olive oil.
