The Good Widow(71)

I put my hand on her arm to interrupt her. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll be blunt. James was having an affair. That’s why he was in Maui. He’d been seeing her for months. And she was pregnant with his child. Yes, you’re right, he may have loved me. But I think he loved her too.”

Isabella lets out a cry, and I put my arms around her shoulders and hug her as tightly as I can. We stand like that for several seconds until Isabella pulls back, her mascara running down her cheeks. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

She walks over to her tote and pulls out a package of tissues, removing one and dabbing each eye delicately. “I’m ready now.”

I sit down on the bed and pat the place next to me. “Okay,” I say. And because there’s no room for lies in this version of my life, I start from the beginning and don’t stop until every drop of truth is revealed.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


JACKS—AFTER

Nick’s front door opens just as I’m about to turn the knob.

“Hey!” he says, a huge smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight—I was just heading out for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” I cock my head.

“Yeah—you got a problem with that?” He smirks. “I was stressed about your conversation with Isabella and thought I’d eat my feelings.” He laughs.

I smile. “That’s why I’m here—I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the house earlier today. It was pretty awkward.”

“I know.” He grabs my hand. “I’m sorry about the whole boyfriend thing. I totally overstepped,” he says, and looks down at his cowboy boots. “It’s just that . . . Jacks . . . I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Suddenly I forget what had seemed so important as I’d driven to his house—the questions I had for him about how he acted. All I can think of is what Nick just revealed. Involuntarily I flash back to when James whispered that he loved me for the first time in my ear right before we fell asleep in his bed, his breath tickling my ear. I push the memory aside and let Nick’s declaration sink in, let his words settle in my chest.

Thankfully he keeps talking. “And I know this is selfish, but I wanted her to know it.” He looks back up. “I wanted you to know it.” His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s looking through me.

The truth is, I’ve been falling too. I can tell by the way I rush to text Nick when something funny happens, like last week when I’d been in Starbucks and discovered a sock stuck to the back of my pant leg, the dryer sheet failing to do its job. I know by how my stomach flutters when his name comes up on my phone, and he’s calling me sometimes four or five times a day—just to hear my voice. I was sure of it when I couldn’t sleep at night and I’d think of him first, wishing he were beside me to wrap his strong arm around my waist. It’s been a long time, but my heart still remembers the feeling of the first gasps of love.

I tilt my chin up and kiss him, deciding not to be scared. “For the record, I’m falling in love with you too,” I whisper, the words feeling foreign as I say them out loud. James was the only man I ever loved until now. But James was the past. Nick is the future.

Nick pulls me in for a deeper kiss. I lose my balance, and he catches me before I stumble, causing the moment to pass. And I’m grateful, because I don’t want to have the conversation. To dissect what it all means.

“Come on, let’s go eat the shit out of our feelings,” I say as I laugh awkwardly. “I could go for some mint chip—and let me guess, you’re a rocky road kind of guy.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“Chunky Monkey?”

“Try again.” He closes his door and rattles the knob to make sure it’s locked.

“Pistachio.” I frown, and he gives me a blank stare. “What?” I ask.

“Pistachio, really?”

“Fine, I give up.”

“Vanilla,” he says proudly.

“Vanilla?” I squint at him. “I would have never guessed that. It’s so—”

“Boring?” he says, taking my hand.

“Maybe a little,” I say.

“I like that it’s predictable, easy, never disappoints.”

I laugh. “Kind of like you?”

“Maybe,” he says before kissing me, his lips soft.

As we’re pushing through the front doors to go outside, Nick’s arm slung over my shoulder, a woman with wiry short blonde hair and cutoff jean shorts nearly collides with us. “Sorry,” she says, looking up from her phone and glancing from me to Nick, her eyes widening at him.

“No problem,” I say, and she gives me a once-over, then hurries toward the elevator, her barely-there shorts rising up in the back with each stride, her pumps clicking against the floor.

“Did you see the way she looked at us?” I ask once we’re out on the sidewalk. “Do you know her?”

Nick nods. “She was one of Dylan’s roommates. They never got along very well.” He frowns. “I haven’t seen her in months.”