Chapter 1 - The Man on the Porch
I hired a stranger to be my boyfriend for one afternoon because my ex was bringing the woman he'd chosen over me. I expected whispers. Pity. Maybe a cruel laugh by the pool. What I never saw coming was that this stranger would notice one small habit of mine — and make the whole family see who put it there.
I nearly called the whole thing off when Marcus climbed out of his car.
He was too good-looking.
That was my first stupid thought. Not friendly-looking. Not harmless. Good-looking. Tall, wide through the shoulders, dark hair, sunglasses shoved up on his head, a white shirt with the sleeves folded back at the wrist. He came up my front walk like the pavement had been poured just for him.
I stood on the porch in my blue sundress, one hand locked on the doorframe. The dress had gone soft and pale from a hundred washings. It pulled a little at the waist now — three pregnancies and fifteen years of family dinners where I filled everyone's plate before my own.
I'd changed six times before I put that dress back on.
Marcus smiled when he hit the steps. "Nora?"
My mouth was moving before my brain caught up. "I'm sorry. I don't really look like my pictures anymore."
He stopped. Not long enough to be rude. Just long enough for me to hear what I'd said.
"You apologized before you told me your name," he said.
I laughed, because the embarrassment had to go somewhere. "Sorry. Hi. I'm Nora."
Something flickered across his face at the second sorry. He put out his hand. "Marcus."
Behind me, my youngest was shrieking that somebody stole her goggles. One of the twins hollered back that goggles belonged to everybody. A beach towel slid down the staircase and pooled on the floor like a little white flag.
"Sorry," I said, stepping back to let him in. "They're wound up."
Marcus looked past me at the noise. "Looks like kids headed to a pool party."
I grabbed the cooler before my hands could start shaking.
Here's the truth. I didn't hire Marcus for revenge. I hired him because Grant was going to be there. And Vanessa was going to be standing next to him.
Three months before, Grant had stood in our kitchen with the dishwasher running and our youngest daughter's spelling test still sitting on the counter.
"I want a divorce," he said.
I thought I'd misheard him. Then he said, "I'm with Vanessa now."
Vanessa was his assistant at the firm. Twelve years younger. Put-together in a way I hadn't been since the first baby spit up down the front of my favorite blouse.
He watched my face come apart. Then his eyes dropped and moved over my body.
"Let's be clear, Nora. You're not the woman I married. You used to be slim. You're just not attractive enough for me anymore."
He said it the way you'd explain a phone bill. Flat. A little bored.
After he moved out, he took Vanessa everywhere. Restaurants. Office parties. His cousin's birthday. His mother's kitchen table. "Vanessa used to model," he'd tell people. Always loud. Always close enough that I'd hear it.
So when Diane — Grant's mother — called to invite me and the kids to her yearly Fourth of July pool party, I said no.
"Nora," she said, "you're still my family."
"Grant's going to be there, Diane."
"I know that."
"With her."
May you like
There was a long quiet on the line. Then Diane said, "Don't let him chase you out of the places you belong."
I wanted to believe her. Instead I sat up past midnight scrolling through a website for actors you could hire for events. Marcus was the third profile I opened.
