I push off the couch and walk the short distance down the hall to Stella’s bedroom. I pause outside the door, not wanting to wake her, and yet everything inside of me feels urgent. I just need to see her.
I tap on the door and wait for a response, leaning my head into her door and peering at the ground. “Stella,” I whisper. “Let me in.”
All at once, her door swings open. I stumble forward but catch myself on the doorframe before bumping my head into hers.
“Did you knock?” she says, gazing up at me.
“I did.” I clear my throat, peering into Stella’s green eyes. “Did I wake you?” This woman is my wife. She is my best friend’s sister. She is someone I’ve known the majority of my life and someone I want to know again.
“No,” she says. At least she doesn’t sound angry anymore.
I look at this grown-up version of Stella Everly. Brice would be so proud.
“I was reading.”
I drum my fingers on the frame. “Nice.” Crackling nerves spread through my limbs at the sight of her. I’m starting to realize what this is—and I’m sure it isn’t helpful. I am attracted to my wife. I push down the thought. “Fran and Rosalie want your number. Is that okay?”
Her eyes search right, then left. “I guess.” With a single shoulder shrug, she finds my gazeonce more. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
“Okay.” I nod, but it’s like she knows I’m considering saying more, that I want to try again. Before I can?—
“I’m in the middle of a chapter,” she says, throwing one thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”
Before I can answer, she’s closed the door again.
Me: We have a problem.
Lucca: If you want help with your left foot, I get it. You’ve come to the right place.
Me: Not my game.
Me: Idiot.
Me: A problem with my wife.
Lucca: Was it the green beans? They looked questionable.
Me: What? No. The problem is I’m attracted to her. You know what this marriage is. And I’m feeling things.
One measly glassof wine with dinner, and I’m confessing more secrets to Lucca Cruz of all people.
Lucca: Man, if this is your problem, you have bigger issues.
Me: I’m serious.
Lucca: Call the counselor, bro. Today. Clearly, you need this.
Me: It’s Thanksgiving.
Lucca: She likes me. If you call, she’ll answer.
Lucca: Do it for your girl.
Twenty-Two
It’s been two days.Stella is nowhere in the house, so she must be on the porch. I send up a prayer that she’s working, that she’s doing what I know she loves. Because she’s turning me into a worrier.
She’s out there, but she isn’t working. She sits with her legs tucked up under her, on the floor, right by the window. I step out with an offering—a cup of coffee, just for her.
