Page 29 of Fault Lines
He grinned. “I’m a listener, Liv. Only perfect people can judge, and I am definitely not one of those.”
Rachel was suddenly back, hair wild, cheeks flushed. “Who’s this?” she asked, sliding onto the stool next to me.
“This is Nate,” I explained, feeling suddenly twelve. “He’s the owner’s grandson where I work. Kind of my boss, but not, really.”
Rachel reached across him immediately. “Nice to meet you! She’s already talked about you. Says you’re super nice.”
Nate just gave me a look, soft and pleased. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
Jackson—the black-haired guy—appeared next to Rachel, hand on her arm, clearly ready to leave.
Rachel turned to me, eyes sparkling. “Would you hate me if I ditched you?”
I shook my head, smiling. “Of course not. Go, have fun!”
She was already putting on her coat, calling over her shoulder: “Stay as long as you want. My place is yours if you need to crash.”
“I’m good,” I said, but she was already gone, leaning in close to whisper, “I’ll give you all the details tomorrow, he’s so freaking hot.”
I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief.
When they’d gone, the silence landed between me and Nate like a slow exhale.
He turned to me, curiosity on his face. “Where’s your husband tonight?”
The question was so abrupt I nearly spilled my drink.
He noticed, wincing. “Sorry. Not my business. It's just this place is kinda known for… you know.”
“This was Rachel’s idea,” I said, my voice a little sharp. “I don’t think she planned on a hook-up, but I guess she couldn’t help herself.”
Nate’s mouth curled. “That’s Jackson for you. He has a way.”
I nodded, tracing a line of condensation on my glass. “Cam’s out tonight too. Rachel was just… keeping me company.”
“So she abandoned you.”
“It’s fine. She’s not my babysitter.” I offered a brittle laugh. “I’m a big girl.”
He stood up, finished his drink, and turned back to me. “If you’re ready to go, I can drive you home.”
At first, I wanted to object—I didn’t want to put him out, or make a thing out of it. But he was already insisting.
“No trouble at all. I don’t really like these places. I came for Jackson, but he’s already done.”
“Okay,” I agreed, surprising myself with how glad I was to have his company.
He led the way out, palm gentle at the base of my back—not hurried, not claiming, just solid and reassuring. So different from the hard, possessive way Cam sometimes touched me.
His car still smelled new and expensive; the seats were soft, almost buttery against my skin. As he started the engine, he glanced at me. “Where to?”
I hesitated, thinking about staying at Rachel’s, maybe making a night of it, but it felt like hiding. Cam had asked for more effort. If I ran away every time he was out, I wasn’t exactly trying, was I? I rattled off my address, hoping Cam wouldn’t behome yet so I didn’t have to explain why I was with Nate and not in an Uber.
Luck was on my side: the house was empty, phantom-quiet when we pulled up.
Nate killed the engine and turned to me. “It’s almost midnight and your husband’s not home. That’s late, right?”
I shrugged, not willing to give in to how much it hurt.
