Page 88 of Six Month Wife

Super casual.

“I appreciate the initiative,” I say, and we both know I’m lying. Not entirely, but close enough.

Bets sighs, her voice softening. “You asked for space to turn this around, and I gave it. But I can’t afford to sit on my hands forever. You know my personality. I want to have my arsenal ready if and whenwedecide that's the best move.”

“I know,” I say. And I do. But that doesn’t make it easier to watch someone else tinker with my vision.

She studies me for a second longer, then turns back to the contractor.

I keep walking past them, past the too-bright tracklights and citrus displays, and into the kitchen to put away everything I left out.

Then, I head to my office and close the door. I sit, letting out a long breath before opening my laptop.

One more thing to fix. One more thing to prove. I knock out what I need to send to Carla and start to leave, but decide I need to do a little investigating.

I search “Rose Henchey + beauty influencer + Instagram”

I click on her Wiki and scroll to the social media links, clicking on a few of her promo reels. She's sharp, engaging, and has the kind of audience I need. The kind who'll listen.

I start drafting ideas—something punchy, something clean. Something that’ll remind people, Citrine isn’t another wellness shop with pretty jars and expensive tinctures.

It’s mine. And I’m not letting it go.

After twenty minutes and a whole page of scribbled lines, I check the time. It’s late. And I did promise snuggling.

I shut my laptop and grab my keys, pausing long enough to flick off the office light.

Bets is still out front, talking to someone on the phone. She glances up when I pass. “Hold on a second,” she says into the phone and then puts it against her chest.

“Are you done?”

“I am, and my bed is calling. Don’t redesign the whole place while I’m gone,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

She huffs a laugh, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Just getting quotes so we can discuss. And Adair? Letting people help isn’t a weakness.”

I pause in the doorway. “Thanks, Bets.”

Then I push the door open and step into the night, the chaos behind me buzzing like static.

She’s right. If the money from this ruse comes through after the fact, I can always reimburse her. I need to seize the moment and stop being so damn stubborn.

I’ve got someone waiting for me tonight. Let Bets do her thing.

I’m going home to do mine.

24

Parker

A light breezerustles through the trees.

I pull into a space at the back of the hospital. I take a deep breath, trying to settle the nerves fluttering in my chest.

This isn’t another shift, it’s a chance to prove myself.

I’m determined to do everything right in the OR today. A cholecystectomy is a routine surgery, but I’m a little rusty. It’s been close to eight months since I’ve scrubbed in on a case.

I cut the engine and sit for a beat, letting the weight of it settle. This is what I’ve worked for. No matter how sideways life has gotten lately, surgery’s the one thing that still makes sense. Once I landed the General fellowship, I couldn’t shake the OR bug.