Page 153 of The Promise Of You

My chest constricts, as if a giant vise is clamping around my heart. How do I really feel about Justin having another woman in his life, a woman he made a baby with? About him having this woman in his life, in a way, and forever.

And I hate, hate, hate myself and my stupid insecurities for that.

Why can’t I be stronger?

My eyes well up just as Justin stands. I inhale slowly. I don’t have the strength to open up to him about my darkness.

Justin doesn’t notice my distress. He gives Moose a soft whistle, taking him to the wooded area surrounding the cottage to do his business.

I bring our empty beer bottles inside and do my bathroom routine. As I slide between the bedsheets, the domestic sounds of Justin locking the door, turning the lights off, then coming up the stairs, fill me with a comfort tinted with a shade of uncertainty.

Life can never be that simple.

He lays heavily on the bed, turns to wrap me in his arms, then falls immediately asleep. No nightmares. Not even a whimper.

I can’t sleep. I want to toss and turn, but he has me tugged into him, and I don’t want to wake him.

And amid all the thoughts that twirl in my mind, keeping me awake and more and more restless, my anxiety settles on one sentence.

‘His money soiled me.’

Does he see Sullivan’s daughter when he sees me?

forty-six

Chloe

The rest of the weekend, the restaurant is packed. Between the Locals’ Pass and the news of Samuel and David’s arrest, we’re the center of attention in Emerald Creek.

Luckily, this town takes care of its own, and the way they show support, is to line up at the door and wait for a table.

Corine insists that we take in all walk-ins.

“We don’t need to do this,” I tell her.

“Boss, we do need to do this. For them, for you, and for us. Everyone’s coming together. Let it happen.”

And I get it. We can’t turn away people who came to show support. The staff wants their tips. And they know the restaurant needs the extra money to tide us over while we’re closed, even if it’s only for a week.

I promised them PTOs. This is their way to thank me.

Saturday night I go to bed at two and get up at seven. Corine convinced me to offer brunch on Sunday.

And it’s brilliant. With the church right up the street, we start to fill up at eleven with walk-ins, and then we’re nonstop into the evening.

But all through these days, in the back of my mind, is the nagging feeling that something’s going to turn ugly. That, as hard as I try, I’ll lose what I want so much.

There’s too much stacked against me.

Saturday night we sleep at Justin’s.

Sunday, we stay at the cottage. “This way, you can sleep in tomorrow,” Justin says.

Tomorrow’s demo day at the restaurant. I’m definitely not needed. It’s actually best if I stay out of Thalia’s and Lucas’s hair.

With no work to immediately tend to tomorrow, my thoughts start twirling again in my mind. Staring at the ceiling while Justin sleeps heavily next to me, I try to make sense of these thoughts. I try to analyze what’s rational and what’s fear-based. Who am I really to Justin? Who will I be in one year, in five years?

Can I be who he needs?

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