Page 14 of Henhouse
“I imagine you expect very little of me lately,” she said coolly. “I haven’t seen your designer friend at the house again.” She looked at Brayden, her eyes all fire.
“You’re not supposed to be at the house at all. And I told you the other night, I haven’t worked with her much,” Brayden said, exasperated. They had been over this. He had all of two meetings with a local design firm. Best he could guess, they had sent someone to the house to check in and make sure he hadn’t changed his mind about going it alone. He had no recollection of even scheduling a meeting. It was a misunderstanding of some kind, as he’d insisted already, but Chloe wouldn’t let it go. It had him worried she was up to something. Or catching on to something else he didn’t want her to know about.
“Fine,” she said with a huff, pouring the rest of the bottle into her glass.
Brayden sat down at the table, the wooden chair feeling extra uncomfortable and stiff. The overwhelming urge to be anywhere else prickled his skin.
He really wasn’t expecting her to be home. Chloe had been away a lot lately. Attending a real estate seminar in Florida for her career of the week. Traveling to Boston for a friend’s bachelorette. Visiting family in Italy for two months. The last one was on his dime, but it seemed a price worth paying for the space he so desperately needed. Since she’d been back, almost two weeks, she’d been out with friends, and God knows who else most nights. He hadn’t seen her in the condo in ages.
He didn’t want to be baited by the For Sale sign in the yard, but he couldn’t ignore it either. If the house had been ready to move into, he wouldn’t have cared much. Not anymore. “I see you listed the condo,” he gritted out.
“And?”
“And our last Battle Royale was over the fact that youneededthe condo. Absolutely had to have it, had to keep it, couldn’t live without it even though it was mine before we got married.”
“I’ve decided that money in the bank is better. Safer, given your reluctance on the matter lately.” Of course she had. The mere mentionof money at this point set Brayden’s teeth on edge.
“You’re a grown woman; you shouldn’t need an allowance from my trust fund.”
“I beg to differ.”
Brayden shoved a whole dumpling in his mouth, but it didn’t taste as good as it should have. He couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten here. How things had devolved and shifted to the point of wishing hiswifewasn’t home and that Hope was instead. He hadn’t heard from her in over a week. Brayden knew he should count it as a blessing, especially with Chloe on a tear, but it unnerved him instead. They’d said I love you. They’d been seeing each other a whole year and finally said I love you, and this was his life. His royally fucked-up life.
He looked at Chloe again, her chocolate eyes fixated on an episode ofLove is Blind. Not long ago, he would have been snuggled right next to her. He’d be kissing her neck at the commercials, too wise to get between his woman and her reality TV but wanting her to know how he desired her nonetheless. The thought made his stomach flip.
They’d met their senior year of college. She was a firecracker, the life of every party, and somehow she’d only had eyes for him—the smallest guy in his fraternity at five foot ten, who hadn’t fully healed his acne and was better known as the class clown than a heartbreaker. She was the first person to treat him like a man. Adesirableman. To look at him and see a future. Hope was the second.
His pad Thai turned to ash in his mouth. He’d lost his appetite. Brayden got up from the table, grabbed his wallet and keys.
“Have my food if you want. I’m going out,” Brayden snapped. “And for God’s sake, remember to lock the door tonight.”
Chloe called after him, “I booked us another session with Dr.Milgran!”
Brayden gripped the door handle tightly and stared at his feet. “I’m not going down that road again. Our problem is very clear: You won’t give me what I want.”
“And neither will you,” she barked, and Brayden wondered when exactly her love turned to venom. He didn’t care for it, but he didn’t want to start another fight, no matter how much she begged for one. Begged for him to stay and explode with her.
He looked back over his shoulder, a mix of shame and regret in his eyes. Then he was out the door.
9
When he’d seen the flyer for the crafting class at his inspection, Theo hadn’t expected Effie to be the one teaching. He thought some dowdy old lady would lead the group. Not that he had anything against dowdy old ladies. In fact, he had signed up for the class and asked Talia to join him precisely because he enjoyed trying new things and learning them from passionate people. He hadn’t anticipated that Effie fit that bill.
Theo was distracted and not doing a very clean job of lining the cardinal design onto his glass with puff paint. He couldn’t help but wonder if Effie was thinking about how bad his name tasted. Couldn’t stop wondering what it tasted like. She would have to tell him at some point. He’d demand it. Maybe after they tussled over his follow-up inspection.If they tussled?They got off to another rocky start tonight. In retrospect,oh, it’s you, probably wasn’t the best greeting upon entering Effie’s makeshift classroom, but then again, he was certain it’s just what she’d expected of him. She’d done her best not to scowland now went on leading the class effortlessly.
“Theodore, you might want to wipe your tip.”
“Excuse me?” he said, wondering if everyone else, especially Talia, made it sound as dirty as it did in his head.
“The tip of your puff paint,” Talia said, rolling her eyes. She nudged him with her elbow.
“Ah,” he said and went to work clearing the glob off the end of the paint tip.
“Once you’re finished with your line work, you can carry your glass to the register. I’ll dry everyone’s puff paint while you enjoy more wine and your dates without me hovering for a few minutes.” She presented herself like an intrusion, despite being the reason they were all there in the first place. Theo caught her eye, and the subtle shade of pink that rose to her cheeks had him wondering if it was more of an effort to lead this class than she let on. What he’d assumed was a bite in their first meeting might well have been the sharper edge to shyness.
Effie led the charge by carrying her own perfectly puff-painted glass to the register at the front of the store. It was far enough away that when she started to use a blow dryer on a low setting, the hum wasn’t an annoyance.
Talia poured them another glass of a smoky merlot, one of Theo’s favorites. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.” They clinked glasses and sipped, not breaking eye contact until they’d swallowed—good luck and all that.
