Page 47 of Playing Dirty
I glanced at the bottle as she held it up between us. “That my peace offering?”
“Think of it more like truth serum,” she said, the corner of her mouth tipping up.
It hit me then—the way her being here shifted everything. The air didn’t feel as still. The quiet wasn’t so loud. Just her standing there, coat open, bottle in hand, and suddenly the house didn’t feel so damn big.
I took the bottle from her and headed for the kitchen, pulling two glasses from the cabinet. The cork came out with a soft pop, and the scent of red wine drifted up—something full-bodied, the kind that sat warm in your chest after the first swallow.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, nodding toward the couch in the great room and pouring us each a glass.
She did, settling on the end cushion, tucking one leg under her like she planned to stay awhile. I handed her a glass, then sat on the adjacent cushion, angled toward her. Close enough to read her face without making it feel like an interrogation.
She turned the glass in her hands once, the wine catching the light. “So. My news.”
I waited, letting her find her own pace.
“I called the corporate office today,” she said, eyes fixed on the wine instead of me. “Needed a letter for the Historical Society, for the Lovelace Centennial Celebration.”
Her mouth curved—just slightly—but there was nothing amused in it. “Turns out, I’m the permanent manager of the Frontier Market now. Not just for a few weeks like Matt told me.”
The words landed like a clean hit, no flourish, no drama—just fact.
I kept my voice even. “He didn’t call to tell you it was permanent?”
“No. And I can’t decide if it was because he didn’t want me to feel too secure, or because he liked me thinking my job depended on him.”
She took a sip, slow and steady, the kind that said she was processing it on her own terms. No cracking voice, no tears—just a quiet acceptance that spoke louder than either.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” she said after a moment. “And if I had to guess… maybe there’s another woman.”
The words were simple, but there was a weight to them—a shift from speculation to something she was beginning to believe. She swirled the wine once more before taking another sip, and I let her have the silence that followed.
I reached for the bottle and tipped it over her glass, giving her a refill before topping off my own.
“I’ve got news too,” I said, setting the bottle back on the table between us.
Her eyes met mine, steady but searching. “Good news or bad?”
“That depends on how you take it.” I let the words hang there a second, feeling their weight settle in my chest. “Since I saw you last, Sawyer and I checked into something we’d heard about Matt. We drove to Casper. Saw it for ourselves.”
She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget—just waited.
“He’s married, Callie. Has two kids. House, yard, the whole thing.”
For half a heartbeat, I braced for the blowback—anger, disbelief, maybe a slammed glass on the table. But she didn’t give me any of that. She just lifted her wine, took a long, deliberate sip, and set the glass down again.
“Then I guess I know where I stand.”
Her voice was quiet, but it carried that same steel I’d seen in her before—when she’d decided to stand her ground instead of letting someone walk all over her.
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “We recorded it. Figured you should see for yourself. I knew there was a chance you’d hate me for it, for stepping in like that.”
She reached out, her hand settling on my forearm—light but firm enough to hold me there. “No. I respect it. You’re giving me tough love, Rhett. I’m not used to it… but I think I need it.”
The corner of my mouth pulled before I could stop it. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”
She didn’t smile back, exactly, but the way her crystal blue eyes held mine told me she meant every word.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled until I found the file. “You ready?”
