Chapter 3 - My Turn
My week went a little differently.
Adrian sits two desks down from me in the marketing department. Dark eyes, slow smile, the kind of man who holds the elevator and actually means it. During a coffee break I told him the whole story, mostly as a joke.
"Wait." He put his cup down. "Your husband pitched this to you. Out loud. With words."
"In a PowerPoint voice."
Adrian shook his head, laughing. "Well. His terrible judgment, my good luck. Let me take you to dinner. If the offer's real."
Nobody says no to that smile. I didn't even try.
Coffee turned into a real conversation. The conversation turned into me inviting him over for dinner on Friday. I spent an hour getting ready — new dress, the good perfume, the lipstick I save for occasions. I hadn't felt that particular flutter in years, and I wasn't about to apologize for it.
I cooked like someone was grading me. And right before Adrian rang the bell, I sent Grant one text:
*Don't come home tonight. This date might go somewhere.*
Send.
My hands were shaking, and not from nerves. From nerve.
Adrian showed up on time with a bottle of wine and better manners than my husband had managed in a decade. We ate. We talked. He asked how I'd gotten into marketing and then actually listened to the answer, eyes on me the whole time. I'd forgotten what that felt like — being looked at instead of looked past.
We were halfway through dessert when the front door banged open.
"Twenty-five cats, Danielle. She showed me pictures of all twenty-five of them like it was a —"
Grant stopped dead in the doorway. Took in the candles. The wine. Adrian. Me, laughing, in a dress he'd never seen before.
"Oh," he said. "Am I interrupting?"
"Yes, actually." I touched the napkin to my mouth. "Did you not get my text?"
He pulled out his phone. I watched him read it. I watched the color climb his neck and flood his whole face.
"So if you could give us another couple hours," I said, "that'd be great. We were just getting to the good part."
"You cannot be serious."
"I'm completely serious." I folded my arms. "You wanted this, Grant. You raised a glass to it."
His mouth opened and closed. About six emotions ran across his face in a line, and the one that finally stuck was something very close to panic.
"Fine," he said, his voice tight. "But you and I are talking. Right now."
I turned to Adrian, who was already reaching for his jacket, clearly enjoying every second.
May you like
"I'm so sorry about this."
"Don't be." He stood, squeezed my shoulder, and leaned in near my ear. "Rain check. Best night I've had in a long time." A kiss on the cheek, a nod at Grant, and he was out the door.
