Page 100 of Six Month Wife

This is the part I know how to do.Survive.

I pull out my phone and click on her page.

I scroll through the order notifications. The screen is a blur of names and addresses from all over the country. A small smile tugs at my lips, then grows wider as the reality sinks in.

This is it.

The knot of anxiety that’s been sitting in my chest for weeks starts to loosen. I'm lighter and freer. And I owe it all to the man I can't have. No need to wallow in that, so I'm grateful instead.

I open my email to fire off a quick thank-you note to Rose, but she’s already beaten me to it.

Subject:YOU’RE A STAR!

Adair,

OMG, your products are ahit! I’ve gotten so many DMs from people asking where they can buy them. You’re sitting on a goldmine, girl.

And just so you know—I don’t believe everything I read. Let’s keep this momentum going.

xo, Rose

I pause at the acknowledgment of the bullshit swirling around me while also letting me off the hook. So she saw the article. Of course she did. She used to date Parker. There’s no way she missed it.

Still, she doesn’t mention it outright. There's no judgment or drama. Just a wink and a nod and a green light to keep going.

I didn’t expect that. And I’m not sure what to do with the weird mix of relief and guilt it stirs up.

I type out a reply, thanking her for everything and assuring her that I’ll keep her stocked with products for as long as she wants to promote them.

After I hit send, I sit back and stare at the ceiling as my mind races.

I empty the bucket in the sink and prop the mop up to dry. There are more things to be done around here to make sure we’re ready to fulfill the sudden interest in Citrine.

For now, I’ll bask in this moment.

My phone buzzes on the counter. The special ringtone tells me exactly who it is before I even glance at the screen.

I answer Jenna’s call on the second ring.

“Jenna,” I answer with a laugh, holding the phone to my ear as I walk back to the kitchen for a refill of my green juice.

“Oh. My. God. Adair!” she squeals, her voice so high-pitched I almost drop the phone. “Do you know what’s happening right now? I’m at that coffee shop on Rodeo, andeveryoneis talking about your products!”

“You owe me an espresso martini,” she says breathlessly, “because I heard two girls in front of me at Alfred’s gushing over Citrine’s facial mist like it was sent from God.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

“Dead serious. One of them bought it this morning after seeing Rose Henchey’s post and was raving about the lavender scent. The other said she’s obsessed with your branding. I almost interrupted her to say, ‘Yup, I know the genius behind it.’”

Laughter bubbles out of me, shocked and delighted. “You’re kidding.”

“I swear on my overpriced latte. Adair, it’s happening. You’re blowing up.”

I sink into the nearest chair, heart pounding. “The orders have been insane. I placed a reorder with my distributor this morning, but—God, I might already be behind.”

“You need reps,” she says. “And capital. And someone to deep-breathe with you through this. I can be that person.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”