S.E.C.R.E.T. Shared (Secret 2)

“Really good to see you too. Help yourself to anything. I’m just going to … finish getting ready.”

He kept his eyes on me as I pointed to the bathroom, walking backwards towards it.

“Be right back!” I said, and closed the bathroom door behind me.

I was completely breathless. Holy shit. He’s here. Calm down. I was behaving like a teenager. I turned on the dryer and gave my hair a few minutes of heat before deciding, Fuck it, this is what I look like, this is who I am. I stared myself down in the mirror for one last pep talk, remembering Matilda’s words: He’s just a guy. You’re both just people.

I found him in the middle of setting the table, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeves. He was carefully spacing out spoons next to mismatched bowls. A warm current spiraled through my body.

“Soup’s almost ready. I hope you don’t mind that I added a bit more bay leaf powder. But don’t be afraid to buy whole leaves. You just pick ’em out after.”

I forgot he was a chef—a pastry chef, but still he knew his way around any kitchen.

“Thanks. I can take over from here. You’re my guest. And you’ve probably had a busy day already with your son. Did you guys do anything fun?”

Breathe.

“Nah, he has some little friends that live nearby. They came over. Played in the backyard while I fixed the lawn mower. Glamorous stuff like that.”

“It actually sounds nice,” I said, cutting up the French loaf and putting it on the table with some sea salt and butter. “I’d love to see some pictures of him.”

“Sure. But first, sit for a bit.”

He could tell I was nervous, flitting around the kitchen, plunking down salt and pepper shakers, wineglasses, pulling out my threadbare linen napkins, wedding gifts from a bygone era. I could barely remember who I was back then.

I lowered myself into the mismatched chair next to him, and my knees skimmed his.

“So. Why’d you bench me?”

“I didn’t … bench you. I put in a request to see you again. Outside of S.E.C.R.E.T. And here you are. You could have turned it down.”

“I’m teasing.” He took a healthy bite out of a slice of bread. “I thought of you from time to time.”

“I thought of you from time to time,” I said, then chomped into some bread myself.

“I’m glad you made the request. Been feeling a little hungry for something … a little more substantial.”

“Me too,” I said. Where was this going? “But … I mean … I don’t have any expectations. I realize how we met. It’s just that I’ve been thinking, of all the people who I … Well, I felt a connection to you. So I … yeah.”

He took the remaining chunk of bread out of my hand and threw it across the room. Then he put out his hands to

me.

“I’m thinking I need to get you in your bed right now, Cassie, ’cause I get the sense you’re gonna start thinking about this all too much. And then we’re gonna get all gummed up in that mental machinery of yours.” He gently tapped the side of my head.

“G-good thing you can’t really overcook bouillabaisse,” I stammered, rising unsteadily to my feet.

“Yeah, you can. But who fucking cares?” He bent down to throw me over his shoulder.

I screamed, thrilled and shocked. The Delmonte sisters downstairs probably had glasses to the ceiling to hear better. Fuck them, I thought as he carted me ten feet to my bed and threw me down, causing an eruption of pillows and at least one of the bed legs to thump hard on the floor that was also the sisters’ living room ceiling. He pulled a condom out of his wallet, tossing it next to me.

Okay then.

“The neighbors,” I whispered, as he slowly crawled up my body until I was flanked by two inked arms on either side of my head.

Jesse’s face, which was so open in the kitchen, now took on a darker focus. Hovering over me, he fished around for my wrists, one then the other, pulling them up over my head, capturing them beneath his hands.

“So?”