Page 20 of Merlot Marriage

When I nod, she bursts out laughing. “How the hell did you find this? Daisy is going to be so jealous.”

I tell her about my map rabbit hole as we climb out of the car. Leaving her blazer behind, she wanders toward the house, telling me about the short-lived Team Edward vs. Team Jacob feud between her sisters back in high school.

As my wife explores, I’m struck by how beautiful she looks in the summer sunshine, the way the light catches the caramel highlights in her hair and outlines the curve of her hips in that skirt.

I should be focused on my own job hunt, not obsessing over making my best friend happy. If I want to stay here in the States and have Ophie be part of my daily life, I need a job.

The tension melts away as we wander around for a few more minutes, taking photos and giggling, before my grumbling stomach can’t be ignored.

“There’s a restaurant not far from here. Let’s get lunch.” I pull a giggling Ophie to the car. We’re still laughing as we stumble into the restaurant. The host seating us keeps looking back as she leads us to the far end of the restaurant, and I give her a friendly smile to reassure her that we’re not a pair of loonies.

There’s a mix of decor on the walls, including someTwilightmemorabilia. I’m busy studying a faded photograph on the wall beside our booth as I slide in, the hostess forgotten.

Something soft bumps my hip, and I turn to see Ophie has slid in beside me instead of across like she normally would. “Wha—”

“Thanks so much. Myhusbandand I are starving. Do you make a good club sandwich? I’m dying for one, haven’t had a decent one in ages.” She wraps her hands around my upper arm, cuddling in beside me. “What do you think, babe?”

Before I can answer, the host is gone, her ponytail bouncing as she speed walks away from us.

“What was that all about?”

Instead of answering, she releases my arm and slides over, leaving six inches of space between us. Six inches too much.

“Nothing. I’ve just had my fill of ogling today.”

“Ogling?”

Bright pink stains her cheeks, and she dips her head. Her response is half muttered and barely audible. “She was checking out your ass as you slid into the booth.”

I turn toward her, my eyebrows raised, waiting for her to make eye contact. It takes a moment, but when she does, she sighs. “I thought she was going to lean over and take a bite out of it.”

“So you decided that if anyone was going to take a bite out of my ass, it would be you?”

She twists in her seat, setting her elbow on the table before resting her chin on her hand. The position pushes her lips together, a cross between the infamous duck lips of our youth and a pout that I can’t seem to stop staring at. “Technically? Yes.” She grins, making me laugh out loud.

With my focus still glued to her lips, I’m dying to know how she feels about that accidental kiss, the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. But everything between us is so easy, so fun and carefree, that I don’t want to disturb it.

We’ve both been so careful to keep our relationship on safe, platonic ground—each of us for our own reasons. But the tension between us ever since Vegas has been simmering and building.

Our lives are in upheaval right now, and I don’t want to add to the complication. Who knows where either of us might get a job offer? Ophie’s kept her job search to the Pacific Northwest so far so she can be near her family, but I’ve applied to places all over the country.

Not that I want to leave her.

But I might not have a choice, so I push the curiosity clawing at me to the side and focus on finding out what other companies she’s waiting to hear back from. Ophie fills me in on the companies she is most excited about applying to, while I sit entranced as she tells me about them.

The server who comes to take our order looks like he couldn’t be more than eighteen. His brown hair sticks out at all angles asif he forgot to brush it, and the wispy scruff on his cheeks isn’t thick enough to hide the still-red scars from his last bout with acne. But he’s old enough to look Ophie up and down in a way that has me immediately on the defensive.

If he doesn’t stop trying to see down her shirt, I’m going to deck him. I don’t care that I easily outweigh him. He looks scrappy, so I’m sure he’d be fine once he learned his lesson.

He checks her out every time he passes us, which means that every time I start to get my irritation under control, he goes and triggers it again. By the time we’re done eating and getting ready to leave, the pit of my stomach is a churning mass of anger and mediocre BLT.

“I hope everything tasted alright?” he asks Ophie as he drops off the check without acknowledging my presence. “Is there anything else I can get you, ma’am?”

Something in me snaps, and I throw my arm over the back of the bench, my hand dropping casually over her shoulder, effectively blocking his view of her cleavage. “The bacon was a little undercooked, but otherwise fine.” I lean forward to make eye contact. “How was your club sandwich,babe?”

Ophie twitches under my arm, pushing back toward the bench and forcing me to stop my stare down with the teenage letch. She turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised and a playful smile on her face. “It was good. And my bacon was fine.” She looks over her shoulder to smile at the server.

He smiles back, and Ophie gives a little laugh. The annoyance I’ve been pushing away ever since he first glanced at her chest bubbles over inside me. Instead of joining in like I think she expects, I reach up with my free hand to grip her chin. “You got a little—” I swipe a speck of salt off her lip, and her eyes go wide, caught on mine as she freezes. The server behind her coughs, and in my peripheral, I see him turn away, but I’m trapped by something I can’t identify flitting across her face.

---