Page 55 of Merlot Marriage

Philip takes the salad bowl from me and sets it on the table before coming back to grab the cold chicken I’d found in the fridge. “Would you move to Australia? For me?”

I follow and slide into my seat as he sits beside me. “Do you have a job offer there you didn’t tell me about?”

The pink in Philip’s cheeks gives away the truth. “My dad’s firm has been trying to hire me ever since graduation,” he admits. “I never told you about it because I wasn’t planning to take it.”

We serve up our food in silence while I think about what to say. Something tells me that Philip is waiting for me to say something. Something specific, but I can’t figure out what.

Is he waiting for me to blow up at him? Logically, I should be mad that he hid this from me, just like he deserves to be angry atme when I tell him about South Carolina, but I have a suspicion that there’s more to the story.

Finally, I break the silence. “And you didn’t tell me because you knew I would tell you to seriously consider it, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” He shifts in his seat, making eye contact as he reaches for my hand. Again, there’s a pregnant pause, like he’s waiting for something, before he continues. “Mostly, I didn’t want to leave you.” His hand is warm and firm on mine, squeezing with reassurance.

“And it wasn’t because you didn’t want to make me feel like I’d married you in Vegas for nothing? That I was possibly committing immigration fraud on your behalf, just for you to go and take off for Australia at the first offer of a job?” I flip my hand over to thread my fingers with his, food forgotten.

“Okay, Ryan Reynolds,” he jokes, but then turns serious. “Ophie, do you really think I could have left you behind? Who would keep me on the straight and narrow? Besides, I can barely go two hours without talking to you. What would I have done with a seventeen-hour time difference?”

Every word he says heaps coal on the guilt burning in the pit of my stomach. I have to tell him about Penny, but the words are stuck in my throat, so I deflect instead. “Did I tell you I almost asked Maggie to check on you when you first moved down here and I didn’t hear from you?” I pull my hand free so I can eat.

“Did I tell you Maggie checked on me anyway? And fed me dinner. Twice. Made me help Olive with her math homework as payment.” Philip grins as he spears food onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth.

I laugh, knowing exactly why my sister arranged that. “My sister hates math with a passion. I used to tutor her on the subject when she was in high school.”

A thoughtful expression fills his face as he chews. “If she was in high school, wouldn’t you have been in junior school?”

“Middle school,” I correct him. “Yeah. But I was in accelerated math classes.” Truthfully, since she had to repeat Algebra and I was two years ahead of my peers, we were working out of the same textbook. I know she would probably be embarrassed about it, but those years of doing our math homework together, me helping her when she struggled, are some of my best memories of spending time with her.

We let the conversation turn to reminiscing about school as kids—Jono and Philip were apparently much more competitive with each other than I was with either of my sisters—and the heavy topic of where we go from here drops. I need to tell him about Penny Zimmerman, but not tonight. Not when everything is new and it might ruin this perfect start.

Despite the fact that we’re house-sitting for practical strangers—I’ve vowed never to own a single piece of rooster decor after this—being here with Philip feels normal. Better than normal, actually. Because when we move to the couch to continue our binge-rewatch ofBattlestar Galacticaand Philip pulls me into his chest, the tiny voice at the back of my head that used to wonder if there was more to us than I wanted to admit is silent. And I can wrap my arms around his chest and snuggle into his side without second-guessing if it’s appropriate or not.

His lips have tasted every square inch of my skin; there’s no part of my body that Philip hasn’t touched. Doesn’t own.

And when we go to bed hours later, I make sure to brand him with my lips in return. Reveling in the freedom to own my husband as surely as he owns me.

Philip

Kel stares at Nate’sphone, eyebrows furrowed as he reads the description Nate showed me a few days ago. “You think Sophie will go for it?” He hands back the phone. “Or Sutton?”

Nate grunts. “Sophie will be the easy sell. Theo will be the one who needs convincing. That’s what I’m paying him for.” He jerks his thumb in my direction.

Kel turns to look at me, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Is he paying you to crunch numbers or charm Theo into agreeing with him?”

I grin. “Both?”

“I think it’s going to be a harder sell than you think. Why are you pushing for a whole new bottling system? Does this mean you’re planning on staying?” Kel leads the way into the cellar, picking up various tools sitting on the counter and putting them away in drawers as he passes.

Nate asked me to come with him to do an inspection of the vines this morning, and I agreed since I don’t have anything better to do and Ophie went back to her place late last night.

We’re finally ready to go public with our relationship, but she didn’t want to run the risk of it happening pre-caffeine. I didn’t argue, even though watching her drive away reopened a few of the stitches holding my heart back together. I wouldn’t say she looked guilty as she said goodbye, but there was definitely something off. Last night, I gave her plenty of opportunities to elaborate on what Cassie said, but she never did, so as of this morning, I’m assuming I heard wrong and there’s nothing to worry about.

Hanging out with Nate and Kel this morning is a welcome—albeit strange—distraction from the worry that ate at me while I should have been sleeping.

Oh, how quickly I went from enjoying a good sprawl in my bed to needing Ophie tucked against my chest in order to get a good sleep. It’s been blissful with just the two of us in the cabin. Me working with Nate, Ophie working her shifts at the coffee shop, both of us scrolling endlessly through job postings.

Nate sighs and follows him in, and I trail behind, watching the pair of them. It’s easy to see the history between them, the easy familiarity with being in each other’s space, even as their words are cautious and overly polite at times.

I’ve hung out with Kel enough times that I know he’s not really as grumpy as he can appear—he’s guarded, but once you get him talking, he’s a genuinely fun guy. And it only takes five seconds of seeing him with his kid and Maggie to know he would do anything for them.

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