Page 23 of Happy Wife

He leaned in a little, and I got another hit of the bergamot from his cologne.

Jesus, he smells good.

I couldn’t lose my nerve now. “Is this…” I pointed at him and then back at myself. “You’ve mentioned your ex a few times. And the divorce.”

“I have.”

“Seems like it would be good to clear the air about…”

Spit it out, Nora.

Then it all came out at once like some kind of awkward word salad. “Are you just out with a younger woman because you’re hoping to impress your friends, or win back some bruised ego, or piss off your ex-wife?”

His eyes widened.

“God, it sounds so stupid now that I’ve said it out loud. I’m sorry. Ignore me. I just—” I was using my hands to talk now, feeling defensive. “You must think my ego is, like…” I stretched my hands apart. “But you’re, like, this great guy. And I’m…”

Just stop, Nora. Don’t make yourself sound even more insecure.

I held back the rest of the thought about me being an aimless swim instructor slash receptionist and let the incomplete sentence die between us.

“The divorce wasn’t easy,” he said. “Constance and I were together for almost twenty years. When she ended things, I was pretty lost. I didn’t want to admit that we had grown apart.” He took a breath and smiled. “But if I wanted to piss her off, I could do a lot worse than take someone out on a date. Like cut off her credit cards. It’s been a year now, and I just want her to be happy. We’ve got Mia. We ended things friendly enough.”

I took it all in. I had spent the last hour or so looking for a weakness, a flaw, the hamartia to put this fantasy to rest. And in that moment, I knew—down to my bones—that Will was just a nice guy. A nice, successful, handsome, honorable guy.

For fuck’s sake.

“And you?” he added. “At the risk of ruining everything with sincerity, you are a breath of fresh air.”

My cheeks were hot. “So, you’re one of those elusive, drama-free, red-flag-repellent nice guys I’ve been hearing about?”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“I thought guys like you were a myth, like Bigfoot or a perfect credit score.”

He smiled, but I feigned concern.

“I’m so sorry, Will. But I don’t think it’s going to work out between you and me.” I leaned in so he could hear me, inching a little closer than before.

“Oh?” His eyes held mine in a warm gaze and he leaned in, too. That fluttery feeling in my stomach was back.

“Yeah, I’m into dirtbags.”

“Shit.” His lips curved into a half smile, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how kissable they looked. “I guess I can forget about a second date.”

“Mmm,” I said with a nod. The air between us felt a little thicker now. “I’m afraid the only way to redeem yourself at this point would be to steal my identity to finance a dogfighting ring.”

“That would get me disbarred.”

“See, that would be hot. We would be instantly more compatible if your career was suddenly in shambles.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we’re compatible?” And we were so close that if he leaned in just one more inch, his lips would be on mine.

A very large part of me knew better than to fall for the perfect guy. This guy. He was a mirage. Just a fantasy.

“Would it help if I could dig up some unpaid parking tickets?” he whispered.

I sighed. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”