Maybe it’s the need for an explanation.
But I type the second number into a new message thread and hover over the keyboard in contemplation.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur to myself.
I send the message anyway.
As soon as the text delivers, dread fills my chest. I drop my phone on the table and close my eyes. “What did you do, idiot?” I chide myself.
I start pacing, wondering if I can unsend the message. As I reach for my phone, it dings with a new message that drops my heart to my butt.
“Oh my God.”
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
“You should have gotten a kitten,” I grumble to myself, slowly opening the new thread to see the message on the screen.
Emaly:I’d love to meet up! I can pick you up in an hour. Send me your address
This is a bad idea. A spectacularly stupid one, in fact. I blame my friends for all having better things to do. I blame my sister for having a full-time job and a child.
And I definitely, one hundred percent, blame Thomas-Freaking-Moskins for taking away my one and only distraction that helps me forget how lonely I really am.
But it’s too late now.
Wetting my lips, I thumb out a reply that contains my address and send it to my client’s wife, hoping this doesn’t come back and bite me in the ass.
*
Emaly Moskins-Yokav isprettier than I remember. She’s also nicer than anyone I’ve ever known. However, that’s not hard when the only real person I have to compare to is Kourtney. And I’m pretty sure my sister was born with frown lines on her face.
The sleek silver Equinox I slide into looks fresh off the lot and far too nice for someone like me to be sitting in. I almost feel bad that my flip-flops probably have dirt on them when I study the pristine mats laid out.
“It’s a rental,” Emaly explains, earning back my attention. She smiles from the driver’s seat. “That’s why it’s so clean in here. Trust me, the one I have back home is storage for lost lip glosses, hair ties, and phone chargers. There’s also chips in the glove compartment and pretzels in the side door because I get hangry if I skip meals.”
I crack a grin. “Emergency rations,” I say approvingly. “Smart.”
She pulls away from the curb as soon as I’m buckled in. “I’m happy you reached out. I was hoping you would before I left.”
Left? “Where are you going?”
She pauses for a moment, contemplating whether she should give me any details. “California,” she finally answers. “I work in San Diego at a children’s hospital. I’ve been gone to spend some time with Thomas and my family, but it’s time to go back to the kids.”
My eyebrows go up. “Wow. That must be hard.”
Her smile wavers, and I worry that I’ve pressed too much for something that’s none of my business. “I’m a surgical oncologist. And it’s a very tough job.”
So she’s beautiful, kind,andsmart. What the hell is wrong with Moskins for cheating on someone who’s the entire package? “I don’t know anything about that, but I’m sure it’s difficult seeing sick children.”
Emaly nods, worrying her bottom lip. “It is. But it can be very rewarding when you become one of the reasons that they get better. Unfortunately, it’s not always the case. That’s when…” Her voice cracks, and she clears it. “I needed a bit of a break. It was nice coming back here for a little while, but I know I can’t hide forever.”
So she came here because of her job, not for her husband. There’s far more about their relationship that I don’t know and probably never will. Even being here is crossing lines that will more than likely get me reprimanded at work.
But, unlike Emaly, I’m not smart.
“Can I ask why you texted me?” she prods, slowing for a red light. “Not that I’m unhappy you did. I’d just assumed you threw out the numbers the second I gave them to you.”
She thought I would do that and still gave them to me? “I debated it,” I admit honestly, sitting on my hands so I can’t fidget with them. “But I couldn’t bring myself to. I don’t know why. Not until I got home early from work and realized…”
