Sipping my second cup of coffee, I watch Elliot swim in the pool. I love how his strong arms slice through the sun-sparkled water, and the way his muscles ripple and glisten. He does laps tirelessly, with the tenacity of a man eating an elephant.
I dig into my purse and pull out my phone to snap a photo. A card falls on the floor. It’s the one Traci gave me last night.
Bending at the waist, I pluck it off the smooth wooden plank and place it on the table in front of me. Just then Elliot is coming out of the pool, water streaming down his strong body in rivulets. I snap a photo and sigh. So much animal magnetism and attraction. My skin tightens with heat. The man should’ve been a model. He could’ve made his fortune shilling underwear.
I save the picture. I’m not sharing it with anybody. Even though it’s going to end in a year, in this moment, captured by my phone camera, he’s all mine.
“Are you snapping my pictures behind my back?” he calls out.
“Nope. In front of your stomach.” I hit the button again.
Laughing, he dries himself with a towel. “How come you don’t swim?”
“Because it’s more fun to watch you.” I give him a cheeky grin. “I used to swim in school, but it wasn’t really my thing. I only did it because my friends did.”
His gaze lands on the business card. “What’s that?”
“My friend’s contact info. The one I told you about yesterday.”
“Ah. Traci.”
“Yes.” I glance at the mobile number printed on the bottom. “I think I’m going to call and meet her today if I can, since we’re leaving tomorrow.”
He nods, not saying anything. His gaze is focused on a spot beyond the table.
I frown. “You all right?”
“Of course.”
“You seem distracted.”
“Nah. Just a few things on my mind.”
“A lot to do before our trip?”
“No, not really. It’s all been taken care of.”
“Then?”
“This and that. Don’t worry about it.” He gives me a smile, but it’s less than convincing.
I open my mouth, but my phone buzzes. I look at it. It’s a text from Caroline Wiseman, my former roommate. I haven’t seen or talked to her since I married Elliot and moved out.
We need to talk.
What an odd thing to say. I don’t know what there is to talk about. We didn’t have the best good-bye, to put it mildly. She was upset that I was moving out, and felt that I owed her somehow because—according to her—without her, I would’ve never met Elliot.
About what? I text back.
A few seconds later, she responds. Money.
I pause. There were three more months left on the lease when I moved out. But as far as I know that’s being paid. I turn to Elliot. “Isn’t your assistant taking care of my portion of the rent at my old apartment?”
“As far as I know, yes,” he says. “Why?”
“It’s my old roommate. She’s making it sound like she’s not getting anything.”
“Can’t be right. I go over my expenses, and it’s definitely on the line items.”