Page 123 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Hey, you want a muffin with your coffee?” Gideon calls from the kitchen.
“Yes, please,” I answer absently, my attention still focused on the bookcase.
“I think I have some in the pantry.”
He disappears into his walk-in pantry, which is practically a small room and an area I’m itching to transform. I keep hinting to Gideon that he should leave me there for a day with a ridiculous number of glass containers and a label printer and watch me work my magic with that space. His response is always to insist he can think of more meaningful ways for me to spend my time and energy.
I return my attention to the photograph. I really shouldn’t look, it’s an invasion of Gideon’s privacy, but the tug of curiosity is too strong. Ignoring the dart of guilt, I grip the edge of the photo and carefully pull it out.
It looks like one of those stiff company photographs where everyone is encouraged to smile and look directly at the camera.
My gaze casually sweeps over the people in the photo and everything in me goes still.
My ex-husband is in that photo.
And standing next to him, with the crooked smile that’s carved a rough pilgrimage into my heart, is the man I know as Gideon Walker.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I’m struggling to catch my breath. A sick, hollow feeling settles in my stomach.
No,no,no.
There must be a logical explanation. There has to be. Only I can’t think of one. All I have is a rising tide of questions.
Why does Gideon have a photo of my ex-husband in his home? How does he know Oliver? And why has he never mentioned the connection to me before?
I have the awful, sinking sensation I’m teetering on the edge of an abyss. And this time around, Gideon is not protecting me from falling into the darkness of it. In truth, I have the terrible feeling he’s now the one who will push me into that void.
“Which muffin do you prefer? Chocolate chip or blueberry?” Gideon asks as he emerges from the pantry holding two containers. He sees me standing there, gripping the photo, and stops dead in his tracks.
“Why are you in a photograph with Oliver?” I ask, my head spinning, confusion gnawing away at me.
Tension tightens his shoulders. He slowly and carefully places the containers on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t answer me, and I can’t read his face.
My body is trembling. “Do you know Oliver?”
In the silence that follows, he looks like he’s preparing himself for whatever is coming. On a defeated exhale, he admits, “Yes.”
One word. One word that knocks the air right out of my lungs.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
His hands clench at his sides. “I wish you hadn’t found out this way,” he says in a low voice.
A bleak silence stretches between us. I grasp the back of the couch to stay upright.
He knows Oliver.
I’m dizzy, thinking back to our conversations, thinking back to everything he told me. Is any of it true? Or is it all a pack of lies? Lies I fell for.
The voice inside me that’s been quiet for so long flickers to life. Stupid, gullible, unsuspecting Kate, it whispers, who didn’t learn from her first mistake and entrusted her heart to a man again. Who dared to hope for a happy ending.
What’s that saying?Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Right now, I’m choking on my shame.
I take in an unsteady breath and ask the terrible question that’s front and center in my mind. “Did Oliver hire you to spy on me?”
He looks appalled. “No.”
