Page 46 of Rebound

I just really want to see you. I can wait until you’re done with your friends. Maybe pick you up and give you a ride home?

There are no dots to say she’s replying, and I quickly add.

No expectations. I just want to see you.

I’ll be done in an hour. You can give me a ride home if you’d like.

A smile spreads across my face, and the tension slips away from my shoulders.

I’ll be there in an hour. Where are you?

I’ll drop you a pin. I really have to go. x

The kiss makes my smile wider, but when the pin drops, I’m sure she must have sent me the wrong location because it’s a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I check her phone location, and it matches what she sent. She might be on the board of directors… I’ve never been able to keep up with all the organizations she’s involved with. But that wouldn’t explain her being there on Thanksgiving. A dozen scenarios run through my mind involving my wife working in a soup kitchen in the Bronx. With no security. No protection. And no clue how to defend herself if something should happen.

Fuck. As much as I love this new Amber, she’s going to end up giving me a heart attack before I’m forty-five.

I parkacross the street and send her a text to let her know I’m outside. Feeling like a privileged prick parked outside a soup kitchen in a two-million-dollar car, I half expect her to call me and say I’ve got it all wrong, that she’s actually at some fancy Manhattan restaurant. But less than a minute later, she walks out of the building, pulling her coat tighter around her.

When she sees me, her face breaks into a smile that makes me feel better than I’ve felt all damn day. A baseball cap is pulled low on her head, her ponytail popping out of the back, and she doesn’t seem to be wearing a scrap of makeup, but she’s fucking glowing. And are those sneakers on her feet? Amber James is out in public wearing sneakers.

I jump out of the car and open the door for her.

“The Bacalar? Really? You couldn’t have tried to be a little less conspicuous?” Her smile has transformed into a wicked grin that has my brain misfiring, and I’m bombarded with images of the time we had hate sex on the hood of this car. From the twinkle in her eyes and the way she’s biting down on her lip, I assume her memory is replaying the same thing.

It was on my birthday, and she was livid that Nathan had bought me such an expensive gift and, in her mind, tried to upstage her. We were in our private parking garage, and I told her she was acting crazy. She called me a giant dick, and then the next thing I knew, I had her pinned to the hood and was shoving my dick inside her.

Glancing at the silver sports car, I’m about to explain that I would have called an Uber if I knew I was going to be driving to a soup kitchen tonight. But I’m enjoying this playful side of her too much, so I play along. Perhaps being Mr. and Mrs. Smith is easier than trying to be Mr. and Mrs. James. “I wanted to drive you home in style, Mrs. Smith.”

I gesture for her to climb inside, and she gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek before she does. The twitch in my cock becomes a full-blown ache.

We’re headed back toward the city, and she’s taken off the hat and settled back against the leather seat with a contented smile on her face. I have several questions, some of which are likely to piss her off, so I ease in gently. “So you started volunteering at a soup kitchen?”

She hums. “Not started, no. I only work there on Thanksgiving. It’s their busiest day of the year, and it’s saved me from spending it alone.”

There are so many things I want to unpack about that statement, but I don’t know where to begin. Again, I choose to play it safe. “You’ve done this before?”

She nods. “Every year for the past ten years.”

“What?” I almost crash the damn car. “How did I not know? What were you…” I clamp my mouth closed before I say something that will start an argument.

Her lips curve with a smile. “You remember that time I organized a benefit for the soup kitchen, don’t you?” she asks, and I hope she’s not waiting for my reply because in truth, I don’t. She’s organized hundreds of fundraisers and benefits. It would have been impossible to keep track of them all. Thankfully, she continues. “Well, I got along well with the people who ran it, Ricky Hernandez and his wife, Andréa. They invited me to volunteer, and I enjoyed it so much that I’ve done it every year since.”

“But how did nobody know? The press? How didInot know, Amber?”

She shrugs. “Hiding in plain sight, I guess. Either that, or a baseball cap is a better disguise than anyone gives it credit for. But truthfully, I don’t think anyone would expect it of me, so nobody ever looked for me there. And Ricky and Andréa would never out me—they’re too cool to do that.”

She’s got a point. I can’t imagine anyone searching for Amber James in a soup kitchen, at least not the Amber James I used to know. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“Why would I have?” She sounds genuinely confused. “You would’ve worried about me being there, and it’s not like we had plans to spend Thanksgiving together. I told you I was with friends, and it was the truth.”

Guilt and regret, compounded by my brothers’ asshole behavior earlier, eat up my insides. “But if I’d known you were spending Thanksgiving alone…”

I steal a glance at her and find her scowling. “I wasn’t alone.”

“Okay, you obviously weren’t alone, but I didn’t realize you didn’t have plans. If I knew, I would have?—”

“Abandoned your family?” I don’t miss the ice that’s crept into her tone. “And I did have plans. I’m quite happy with the way I’ve chosen to spend my Thanksgiving.”

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