Page 125 of The Hotel Room

He had no idea which timeline he was in now, and it was killing him.

The conversation swirled around him, but he was too distracted to focus on the words. Instead, he found himself studying Kate, noticing the subtle changes in her over the months. She seemed more guarded, yes, but there was also a quiet strength in her that hadn’t been there before.

He thought about the letter again, the way he had laid himself bare in it, trying to explain everything he’d failed to articulate in the past. He wanted her to know that he saw her, that he valued her, that he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he’d done if she let him.

But had it been enough? Would it ever be enough?

“James?”

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he realized she was looking at him, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?” she asked softly, her tone laced with quiet concern.

He nodded quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just a long day. Happy to be home.”

She didn’t press, but there was something in her expression that made his chest ache.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of small talk and laughter, the kind that felt normal and yet so fragile. James found himself clinging to every moment, every word, every smile, as though it might be the last time he’d get to experience this version of their life.

When the plates were cleared and the kids wandered off to the living room, James stayed behind to help Kate load the dishwasher. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, a reminder of how much had changed and how much still remained the same.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said quietly, placing the last plate on the rack.

Kate glanced at him, her expression soft but unreadable once again. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated, wanting to say more, wanting to ask if she’d read the letter, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he stood there, feeling the weight of two possible futures pressing down on him.

As she wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to leave, James found himself staring after her, his heart caught in the liminal space between hope and despair.

He didn’t know what timeline he was in. But for now, he would hold onto this moment—this fragile, fleeting moment—and pray it was leading him to the right one.

CHAPTER FORTY

Kate

The scent of melted chocolate filled the kitchen, rich and decadent. James stood at the counter, his sleeves rolled up, whisking something in a mixing bowl with that focused expression he always got when he was trying to get things just right.

Kate sat at the table, unable to look away. His arms flexed with the movement of whisking. His broad back was a solid, steady presence, the way he leaned slightly into his work making his frame seem even more impressive.

A sudden wave of heat swept over her. Her mouth went dry, and she had to shift in her seat, pressing her thighs together as an ache settled low in her belly. Her skin felt too warm, a flush rising to her cheeks, and her imagination surged with startling clarity. These pregnancy hormones were relentless, and her body was betraying her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

She could almost feel him—James—inside her, the way they fit together, the weight of his body, the heat of his touch. The visceral memory of their intimacy sent a shiver down her spine, making her bite her lip as she fought to steady herself.

He was gorgeous, so effortlessly attractive, and it struck her, not for the first time, how utterly stupid he’d been to think he was missing out on anything. The life they had built together—the love they shared—was unparalleled.

Her chest tightened, not with anger this time, but with an overwhelming sense of love. And God, she loved him—this flawed, beautiful, infuriating man.

He had hurt her. Broken her in ways she’d never thought possible. But he’d also rebuilt himself in the aftermath, piece by piece, and shown her the man she’d always believed he could be. Watching him now, his broad shoulders moving as he poured the chocolate mixture into ramekins, she felt it—the forgiveness she’d been carrying silently for days.

He was hers. Her James. She’d loved him since they were teenagers. Through every stage of their lives—through heartbreak, through laughter, through raising their children. And even now, after everything, that love hadn’t gone anywhere. It had bent, yes, but it hadn’t broken.

That realization was like a breath of fresh air, lightening the load she’d carried for months. It wasn’t about pretending the hurt hadn’t happened or excusing what he’d done. It was about reclaiming her peace, about choosing love over bitterness.

Kate couldn’t help the small, fond smile that tugged at her lips as she watched James dry his hands at the sink. He’d been so stupid—so utterly, heartbreakingly stupid—but somehow, the thought of it didn’t burn the way it once had. Instead, it settled into a bittersweet fondness, the kind of feeling reserved for someone you know better than they know themselves. My husband, the moron, she thought.

And now, as she watched him glance over his shoulder with that quiet, hopeful look that said he was still trying, her heart ached in the best way. Stupid, yes. But hers. Always hers.

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