Page 125 of Broken Pact

I walk further into the house, Pudding a warm weight against my chest. “Jasper? It’s me.” I look out the window wall, hoping to see him on the balcony or at the rocky beachfront by the lake.

It doesn’t take long to realize that he’s not here yet. That’s fine. He’s probably just on his way. I settle onto the plush couch in the living room with Pudding curled up in my lap. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the expansive window wall, bathing the room in a warm, honeyed glow. It catches on the crystal bowl on the coffee table, scattering tiny rainbows across the polished wood surface.

I let my gaze wander, taking in the little details of Jasper’s space that have become so familiar to me over the past couple of months. The well-worn paperback on the side table, a thin leather bookmark peeking out from between the pages. My crewneck sweatshirt draped over the back of one of the kitchen stools.

Little reminders of the life we’ve been building together. The relationship we’ve been nurturing. The realization makes my heart ache with longing. I can’t lose him, not like this. Not when we’ve come so far.

Not when I just realized that I’ve fallen in love with him.

The tears well up again as I think about how close I came to throwing it all away in a moment of hurt and anger.

I pull out my phone and check it again, but there are still no new messages from Jasper. Worry gnaws at the pit of my stomach. What if he doesn’t come home? What if I pushed him too far and he’s done?

What if he’s done with me?

Apprehension grows, curling tight in my stomach. I have to believe that he’d hear me out.

I’m not sure how long I sit there on Jasper’s couch, absentmindedly petting Pudding as my thoughts spiral. One minute bleeds into two, two into ten, and ten into sixty. The bright sunshine bleeds deep gold as the afternoon grows.

With each passing minute, the knot of worry in my stomach pulls tighter. I check my phone compulsively, but the screen remains dark and silent. No new messages.

And then finally, I hear it.

Relief sits on my shoulders like a weighted blanket at the sound of a car on the driveway. Pudding stirs and hops off my lap as I jump up from the couch, my heart hammering in my chest. I smooth my hands over my sundress, trying to calm my nerves as I hear keys in the front door.

The door swings open, but it’s not Jasper in the doorframe.

It’s a woman.

We stare at one another, a pregnant pause like some kind of wild west showdown. Her expression is blank, but not in the you just caught me doing something wrong kind of way. More like a forced mask of emotion.

Taller than me, brunette, and cute in that girl next door kind of way. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t quite place it.

Pudding growls at the newcomer, his hair standing on end and making him look bigger. Finally, I find my voice. “Who are you?”

I watch in fascination as she visibly shakes herself, kind of like how a dog shakes after it’s wet. This all-body sloughing. A bright smile stretches her lips wide and her brows rise in a strange mock expression of friendliness.

“You must be Coraline. I’ve heard so much about you. Please, come inside,” she says, like she’s some kind of gracious host. Even though I’m already inside the goddamn house. She closes the door behind her and flicks the lock. Slipping off her heels, she pads past me and into the kitchen.

Pudding and I follow behind her, because what the fuck else am I supposed to do here? “I’m sorry, who are you?”

She goes straight to the cabinet and pulls down a glass and fills it up with the lemonade I made yesterday. She’s so familiar with everything. Suspicion gnaws at me, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

She looks over her shoulder at me. “Didn’t Jasper tell you about me?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “No.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry. I can understand why you might feel like the other woman,” she says, leaning over the island and raising her brows expectantly, that weird smile on her face still. “But Jasper told me all about your little . . . arrangement.” She flutters her fingers at me.

My stomach drops at her words, confusion and dread swirling together. "Arrangement? What are you talking about?"

She takes a sip of lemonade, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. “I bet you had no idea it was my plan, hm? What’s that term? Mutually beneficial.”

I slip my phone from my pocket and call him. I put it on speakerphone, and we listen to it ring and ring and ring.

When it becomes clear he’s not going to answer, her grin grows so wide, she reminds me of the Cheshire cat. All teeth and malice.

“Look, lady, I don’t know who you are or what the fuck you’re doing, but you need to leave. Now.”

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