Page 107 of Six Month Wife

He doesn’t speak again until we’re walking back up the beach.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to come,” Cam says finally. “I know you're so busy lately with the business, the husband.”

My stomach tugs a little at the last word. “This mattered more.”

Thankfully, he didn't bring up the scandalous article. I'm sure he's read it.

He stops, glances down at me, eyes red but steady. “I know you loved him too.”

“I did,” I whisper. “God, I did. Both of you are like brothers to me. I miss him.”

And like that, we fall into each other. There’s no preamble or hesitation. Just arms around necks, hands in fists, grief pressed tight between two people who loved the same boy in different ways.

He sobs once. It's sharp and sudden against my ear, and I hold on tighter. “He was the best part of me,” he chokes. “I don’t know who I am without him.”

“You’re still you,” I say. “You’re carrying double now. For both of you.”

His breath hitches. Then steadies.

Neither of us sees the camera or the flash in the barely gray dusk.

The warmth of the setting sun clings to my skin, salt lingers on my cheeks, and Cam squeezes my hand once before letting go.

I pullup to Bets’s house, a charming coastal bungalow nestled behind a grove of oak trees. I knock lightly, and a moment later, the door swings open. Bets stands there, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a baby monitor clipped to her waistband.

“Adair,” she says, surprised but smiling. “What brings you here?”

“Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Her smile softens into something more serious, and she steps aside to let me in. “You never have to ask. Come on in.”

We settle in her living room as the sun streams through the windows, casting warm patterns on the hardwood floor. Bets tucks her legs beneath her on the couch, her expression patient and expectant.

I take a deep breath, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“Your intuition was right. Citrine’s been struggling,” I admit. “For months now. I’ve been barely making ends meet. As you already know, I’ve had to let staff go. I know you’ve noticed the changes, and I know I should’ve told you sooner, but…”

I trail off, the words catching in my throat.

“But your pride got in the way,” Bets finishes gently, a knowing look in her eye. “I know the feeling.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “You’re right. That, and I’m not good at asking for help. It’s all pride, but it’s debilitating.”

“You’re not failing,” she says firmly. “You’re facing challenges, like every business owner does at some point.”

I let out a shaky breath, her understanding lifting some of the tension in my chest. “I’ve found a way to turn things around,” I say, steadier now.

“Talk to me.”

“The product line’s taking off. I'm sure you've seen the buzz lately, thanks to a single influencer, Rose Henchey. Since she posted, orders are up over two hundred percent.”

Bets blinks once. Then slowly smiles, eyes glinting with something sharp and pleased. “Rose?As in ‘Morning Matcha with Rose’ Rose?”

I nod. “The very one. You know her?”

“Oh, Iknowher,” Bets says, already pulling out her phone. “She posted something last night about a scrub. Sea Breeze something? I thought it looked familiar.”