“Hey.” My voice is tight. I don’t want to talk to her.
“It’s my day off, so….” She waves a hand at her cart.
I nod.
“How’s…how’s the sabbatical?”
“Good,” I clip.
She eyes my shopping cart pointedly. “So…is this what you’re doing with your time off?”
I cock an eyebrow.
“Grocery shopping,” she adds with a sneer.
“And cooking.” I smile pleasantly at her. “And doing the laundry. I even changed the sheets today.”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
She shakes her head, displeasure written all over her face. “How can you, Rhys? You’re a renowned surgeon, and this is how you want to live your life?”
“How I live my life is my business,” I shoot back. We’re not in the workplace, I’m on leave, and I don’t need to be polite to her.
She tilts her head. “Is this really what you want to do?”
I roll my eyes. “Be a good father and husband?” I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, this is what I want to do.”
“You’re making a mistake,” she hisses, her jaw clenched. “You’ll lose momentum. Dr. Lin will replace you.”
Done talking to her and entertaining myself, because seeing her gawk at my wordswasentertaining, I push my cart forward. “As you said, I’m a renowned surgeon, Tory. If Dr. Lin replaces me, several hospitals in Baltimore will snap me up.”
It’s an arrogant statement, but that doesn’t make it untrue. She knows that.
Her laugh is low, almost pitying. “Rhys, come on. You’re not built for domestic life. You’ll go crazy within a month.”
That’s the last straw.
I turn to her, meet her gaze squarely. “You might be right. But that’s between me and my wife.Youdon’t get a vote.”
Her mouth tightens. “I’m your friend.”
“No, Tory, you arenot.”
I walk away from her, my cart rattling ahead, feeling pretty pleased with myself. I did good shopping,andI gave Tory Chehade the proverbial finger. Both resounding victories.
CHAPTER 23
Jayne
It’s been a whole month since Rhys went on sabbatical, and now we’re hitting the last day of school, which always feels like a slow-motion landslide—field days, pizza parties, sign-this, donate-that, and the dreaded summer schedule.
If he thought schooldays were difficult, he has no idea how crazy it gets when the kids don’t have school.
This morning, I’m at the kitchen island with my laptop open and a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm. Rhys leans over my shoulder, squinting at the screen like I’m trying to decode the genome.
We discussed it, and I ended up creating the schedule. He didn’t argue.
