Page 34 of Six Month Wife
“Just saying, I watch the hell out of Mariska Hargitay, so don't discount the importance of the people walking down the sidewalks of New York,” I say, laughing. “They make the show.”
“Thanks, Adair,” she laughs. “Really. That means a lot.” Her voice lifts. “So, I’m already planning my next visitin a few months. Can I book Citrine for a full pamper day? I want the works—facial, massage, all of it.”
I wince. Luckily, she can’t see it. I was able to keep her busy enough this last trip that there was no time for any services. I won’t be able to do that every time.
“Of course,” I say, my voice as bright as I can make it. “We’ll treat you like a queen.”
And by "we," I mean me, myself, and the ever-diminishing will ability to wear all the hats.
“Perfect! Maybe I’ll even get to see you and your Dr. Dreamboat together and happier than ever. That way, I can make sure he’s good enough for you,” she teases.
It depends on whether you’re here in the next six months.
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to interrogate him,” I assure her, trying to keep my tone light.
“Great. And Adair?”
“Yes?”
“You’re okay, right? I mean, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I don’t know. You’re always so strong, but I know things are tough right now.”
I hesitate for a second, feeling that familiar urge to spill everything—the stress, the worry, the way this place has become more of a burden than a dream. But I push it down.
Jenna doesn’t need my problems. She’s got her own life to worry about. She deserves support, not to be dragged down by my shitshow of a life.
“Of course, I’m fine,” I say brightly. “Just the usual business stuff. But I’m great, really.”
“Well, I’m here if you ever need a vent sesh,” she says. “You’re my best friend. I don’t care how busy you are, we are always there for each other.”
“A thousand percent,” I say, feeling a pang of something I can’t quite name. “I can’t wait to see you again, JJ.”
We hang up, and for a moment, I stand there, phone in hand, as the weight of the conversation settles over me.
I hate hiding things from Jenna, hate pretending everything is perfect when it’s far from it.
I can practically hear her disappointment, even though I know she’d never judge me.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to shake it off. Just a little longer.
Things will turn around. They have to.
I’mbored out of my mind. After sitting in the store all morning, my most exciting task is contemplating what to order for lunch.
That's until the door chimes. I glance up, delighted to see my handsome fake husband. God, that’s so weird.
What is a fake husband, anyway? Because we are married, certificate and all. And the lines are becoming more fuzzy by the day.
He’s still in his scrubs, looking a little too attractive for my peace of mind.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Parker says in his easy way, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I catch a flash of warmth in them that I hadn’t expected. He’s holding a coffee cup out toward me. “Thought you could use this.”
I accept it, surprised. “Thanks. Rough shift?”
“Not bad, a busy morning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the store, landing on the shelves of my product line that I’ve rearranged for what feels like the tenth time this week. “Looks good in here.”
I don’t want him noticing the rows and rows of unsold product, but I force myself to smile. “Trying to keep it that way.”
Parker leans against the counter, looking at me intently. “So, I thought about what happened at the club the other day.”
