The Swap(39)

So beautiful!

That’s going to be a gorgeous baby!

Enjoy this special time!

Only a handful were cruel.

Ryan Klassen is dead. But enjoy your holiday!

Will baby grow up to be a killer like daddy?

Superficial, shallow c**t.

Monitoring her page, I found that Freya posted roughly every other day. She was back in the game. And it was only a matter of time before her dabbling became a full-blown career again. Her photos were decent, she looked stunning, but they were amateurish. That’s when I saw an opportunity to get back into Freya’s life. But I needed Thompson Ingleby’s help.

I texted him and asked him to meet me for a slice of pizza. He responded instantly and exuberantly.

Sounds great!!!

When I arrived at the restaurant, he was already there, seated at a red vinyl booth. He stood when I entered. “Can I buy you a slice?”

“My treat,” I said. “What’ll you have?”

“I insist,” Thompson said. “Unless you think that’s chauvinistic? I respect you as a woman and your ability to pay for your own food.”

“It’s fine.” I slid into the booth. “I’ll have a meat-lovers and a Coke.”

Thompson hurried to the counter and soon returned with a slice and a drink for each of us. He set my meal in front of me with a flourish.

“M’lady.”

Like he’d just slayed a dragon for me. Four years ago, I would have been charmed, but this was a business meeting only. I knew I had to start with some small talk.

“How’s your cousin’s bakery business going?”

“Not bad,” Thompson said, then proceeded to regale me with tales of his cousin’s photogenic petit fours that looked great but tasted like dirt sandwiches. I nodded along, though I was barely listening.

“How’s the photography coming along?” Thompson asked. “Are you still working at the gift shop?”

Instead of responding to his two-part question, I said, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure.”

“I want you to DM someone for me on Instagram. I want you to tell her about my page.”

“I could do another story. You’ll get more followers that way.”

“I don’t care about more followers. I want to photograph her.”

Thompson chewed for a moment. “Who is it?”

“Freya Light. She’s an Insta celebrity. At least she used to be. She lives here now.”

“Cool.” He was already digging out his phone, already looking her up. “She’s very pregnant. And she’s gorgeous.” He looked up at me. “If you like that petite, blond type.”

Was he flirting with me? I had literally no experience, so I couldn’t tell. If he was, I should say something flirtatious back. But what? You’re kind of cute, and I might be into you if you weren’t a head shorter than I am. That wasn’t all that charming, I realized, so I said nothing.

Thompson turned his attention back to the phone. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell her you love her page, but there’s a local photographer who could take it to the next level. Her Insta photos should be taken and edited properly. Then direct her to my page.”

He tapped away for a few seconds. “Done.”

“Thanks.” I stood up.

“Do you want to get some ice cream?” he said quickly. “Or we could have some drinks? My parents make their own grain alcohol.”

“I have to go home and babysit my brother,” I lied.

Thompson looked bummed as he slid out of the booth, then followed me to the parking lot. “We should do this again sometime,” he said.

I looked down at him. “Sure.”

“When’s good for you? I work Friday nights, but I can do any other night.”

“My schedule is erratic. I’ll let you know.”

He hovered for a beat, and I suddenly wondered if he was going to try to kiss me good night (try being the operative word, since he would need a stool to reach my lips). But then he said, “’Night, Low. I hope this Freya person messages you soon. I’m sure her baby will be really cute.”

“It will be.”

But I would still hate it.





34


jamie


Freya and Max were gone for most of December and January, giving me ample time to dwell on the fact, now irrefutable, that my best friend had slept with my husband. I had no right to be upset—I had done the same to her—and yet, I was. I knew Freya was highly sexual, adventurous, and a risk-taker. And Max seemed to go along with whatever made his hedonistic wife happy. Swapping partners was probably no big deal for them. But that night had rattled my husband and me, shaken our foundation. And Freya had orchestrated the whole thing.

Shortly before their return, Brian announced that he didn’t want to see them. “I feel awkward around Freya, and insecure around Max. Maybe I’ll get over it in time, but for now . . . I’m not interested in being friends with them.”

Freya had planted a toxic seed in my husband’s psyche, and I resented her for it. She had made him think he wasn’t enough for me, and I had my work cut out for me proving her wrong. I considered editing Freya out of my life, too. It was what Brian wanted—not that he’d said so specifically. But I had to agree that ending my friendship with my husband’s lover, who was also my lover’s wife, would make things a hell of a lot simpler. But I couldn’t let Freya go.