Page 72 of Six Month Wife

“Agree.” She folds her arms, leaning against the counter. “And no Jenna. If anyone checks, she was only in town right before you called me. So maybe I came to the hospital for another reason. Oh, I was trying to sell my juices to the cafeteria.”

“Right. Perfect. Just you and me. Hospital hallway, fate, chemistry. We kept running into each other until we couldn’t ignore it.”

“So basically, a Hallmark movie, but with orgasms.”

I laugh. “Exactly.”

She bites her bottom lip, considering. “Okay, so we reconnected two-ish weeks before Roger died. Started dating right after. It got intense fast. Couldn’t stay away from each other. Decided to make it official.”

“God help us both if they ask who said ‘I love you’ first.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“That was definitely you, by the way,” I tease, hoping to coax her back into it.

“In your dreams.”

But she goes quiet again. Looks out the window like I’m not even there.

I wait a beat, then another.

“You good?” I ask, softer this time. “Because you’ve been kind of somewhere else tonight. If you’re not dialed in for this, it’s going to show.”

She shifts, arms crossing loosely. “I said I’m fine. I'm thinking. That’s allowed, right?”

“Sure. But if whatever you’re thinking about is going to tank this meeting, I kind of need to know. This isn’t a check-the-box thing. Paul’s job is to sniff out bullshit—and he’s good at it.”

She stiffens a little. “I know what the stakes are, Parker.”

“I’m not sure you do,” I say, tone harder than I meant. “We’ve got a lot riding on this. If we come off even a little off-script, then all of this--”

“Then what?” she snaps, turning to face me fully now. “You lose your inheritance? I ruin your one shot to prove yourself to Daddy Dearest?”

I blink. “Where is this coming from?”

She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to keep something in, and then drops her shoulders. “Sorry, I don't know.”

I turn back to the road, surprised by the edge in her voice. She’s always holding everything in. It's no wonder she's a walking pressure cooker, ready to blow.

“Thinking about what?”

“Life,” she says vaguely, turning her gaze back to me. I see sadness in their depths. This isn’t like her. “The way it’ssupposed to work out, but never does. Why some people make it look so easy.”

I frown. “Some people? Like who?”

“Like Bets,” she says, her voice tinged with frustration. “She’s got it all figured out. Perfect business, perfect relationship, baby, life.”

I’m caught off guard. “I thought Bets was your mentor. Can’t you talk to her? Ask for life advice?”

This isn’t the time to be talking about Bets. We need to be talking about us.

“It’s not that simple,” she snaps, her tone sharper than I expected.

“Why not?”

She groans and massages her temples. “Because it’s not, Parker. Bets’s is complicated. She’s not a mentor; she’s an investor. She has expectations. If I go to her for help, it’s like admitting I’ve failed. And I can’t do that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “If she’s invested in your success, wouldn’t she want to help you?”