Page 101 of Her Rival

"I'm not asking you to apologize."

"I know."

"I'm telling you I needed to be told."

"I know."

"And I'm going to go to Brynn's tonight."

He did not move.

"Not because I'm angry. Not because I'm done. Not because I don't want to come back. Because I've been in this house for two days and I've been in this man's life for three weeks and I've just found out a thing about you the size of which is a thing I'm going to need a night to sit with by myself, on a couch with my best friend, with a glass of wine. I'm not running. I'm taking a night. Do you understand the difference."

"Yes."

"Tell me you understand the difference."

"I understand the difference, Hartley. You're taking a night. You're not running. You're coming back tomorrow."

"Possibly the next day."

"Fine. The next day."

"And you're not going to text me forty-six times between now and then."

"I'll text you twice."

"Twice."

"Once tomorrow morning to tell you I haven't slept, and once tomorrow night to tell you I've made it through a day. I won't ask you to come back. I won't ask you anything. The two texts are for me, not for you, but you'll see them."

"Okay."

"Hartley."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I should have told you."

"You said."

I stood up. I closed the laptop. I picked up my bag from where I'd left it on the chair at the end of the island that morning. My laptop was already in it. I'd packed it at six forty. He hadn't noticed when he came in that the bag was packed, because the bag was packed the way I always packed it, full but invisible, the way I'd been raised to pack a bag.

I came around the island.

He stayed where he was on the stool.

I stopped beside him. I put my hand on the side of his face.

I had not, in three weeks, put my hand on the side of his face. I'd touched him in many other places in many other rooms. I had not done that one yet.

I did it now.

"You're going to be okay," I said.