Page 1 of 40 and Flirting (with Disaster)
One
Walking a tightrope sucked. Seriously sucked. Big fat donkey balls, as some of the teenagers who came into the library would say. Too bad Iris found herself doing it more and more lately.
Because of the man across the table from her. The one who refused to look up from his phone.
“Your steak, ma’am.”
She startled at the waiter’s words. Plastering a smile on her face, she glanced up at the young man. “Thank you.”
Kirk grunted as he pocketed his cell—finally—the sound filled with displeasure. What had she done now?
Her husband glowered as the waiter set a full plate in front of him as well. Without a word of thanks, he dug in. Iris graced the waiter with another smile, this one apologetic. He returned it with a friendly nod that told her he didn’t blame her for Kirk’s lousy attitude.
If only it were that easy.
She picked up her knife and fork. “Happy anniversary, Kirk.”
Twenty-three years. They’d spent twenty-three years together—as partners, lovers, parents. How was it that she felt less and less like she knew him as the years wore on? A stranger sat in the fancy leather-and-oak dining chair across from her, so closed-off and silent she was hard-pressed to say she actually knew him at all. And yet the way he held his polished silver fork, the way he chewed, the way he sipped from the cut-crystal wineglass were all intimately familiar.
How had it come to this?
Kirk’s plate was clean, hers barely touched when he finally spoke. He wiped his mouth with a snowy-white linen napkin, then settled his fisted palms against the table. “This is no longer working for me, Iris.”
Iris’s gaze leaped to meet Kirk’s. Her heart jumped into her throat, yet her face felt frozen. Carefully placing her silverware atop her china plate, she pushed it to the side. Shame filled her at her initial reaction: he wants a divorce, followed by a strong surge of relief. Maybe that had been the withdrawal she’d sensed the past few months. “‘This’?”
“Us.”
This is it. This is really it.
What am I going to do?
First, speak. “You want to divorce?”
His glare had her jerking back in her seat. Actual fear thumped in the pulse at her throat. “Hell no, I don’t want a divorce.”
She ignored the cursing. “Then what are you talking about?”
He had the grace to glance around, checking that they had no audience. Little late for that. But the Carousel had seated them at a table atop a dais in honor of the special occasion, slightly separated from the rest of the dining room. “I’m talking about you, Iris.” He waved a hand in her direction. “You’re not the woman I married anymore.”
She scoffed. “I hope to God not, just like you’re not the same. It’s been twenty-three years, Kirk.”
His mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing things I don’t like, things my wife shouldn’t do. Voting against me at the city council meetings. Going dancing at the bar with your friends—without me. Showing yourself off to other men—”
She cut him off. “I’ll vote however I feel led to vote. I don’t need your permission, husband or not. And I didn’t go to a bar; I went to the local pub. You were perfectly welcome to come along.” But he’d refused, just as he’d refused most of her invitations to do things together recently. She’d been surprised he’d made reservations for their anniversary, frankly. But maybe he’d had this planned all along. As to the showing herself off to other men… “Is this about that Halloween costume again? Kirk, it was fine. Everything was covered.”
“You appeared in town as a saloon girl, Iris,” he hissed. “Every man who walked by got a clear idea of what is supposed to be mine.”
She and her friend Scarlett had dressed up in the old-fashioned can-can girl costumes to run the photo booth at the Halloween carnival a few weeks ago. The flirty skirt had called to her, complete with crinoline and fishnet stockings, but she hadn’t shown anything more than would be visible had she worn a fitted blouse and full skirt to work.
The stubborn look on her husband’s face told her she wasn’t going to win this argument—again. Still she couldn’t hold back her, “That’s ridiculous.”
Kirk’s glare narrowed on her. “It was the last straw. And frankly, I don’t want what every other man has seen.”
If he’d slapped her across the face, she couldn’t have been more shocked. Her brain tried frantically to make sense of the whole conversation. “So you don’t want me,” she said, her lips feeling numb. “But you don’t want to divorce.”
“What I want is an open marriage.”
In the stunned silence that followed his words, she became aware of a solid presence mere feet from their table. Raising her eyes, she caught sight of crisp black dress pants, masculine hands cupping a delicate china dessert plate, a fresh white dress shirt, and, finally, startled green eyes staring right into hers.
