Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

Neither did I.

“Something wrong?” Finn asks.

I keep my back to him. “No.” I take out another dish in a floral pattern. Where the hell did he get this—a flea market? Men.

Finn wipes his hands on a rag, takes the plate from me, and sets it aside. “I know we don’t know each other very well—”

“We don’t know each other at all.” I turn to face him. “We’re half a step up from strangers.”

He winces, almost imperceptibly. “Okay . . . well, then, think of me as a stranger. Sometimes it’s easier to confide in someone you don’t know.”

My chest is tight. Actually, Finn doesn’t feel like a stranger, but more like we’ve known each other a long time. Longer than Nathan and I, even, which makes no sense. Meeting Nathan felt fresh, like a beginning, as if he’d just been born and walked right into my life. Finn could be an old friend, though, a t-shirt I’ve worn a thousand times.

“I found something.” The words tumble out.

“What did you find?”

“It’s stupid. And cliché. It’s dumb to even mention it.” I roll my eyes and lean my back against the counter. “I found a lipstick stain.”

“When?” His expression closes. “Where?”

“Last night, on his tie.”

“Jesus, Sadie.” Finn runs both hands through his hair as if I’ve just told him something about his own spouse. He makes a face. “I’m sorry.”

“You are?” My heart skips. “Why? You think it means something?”

“Oh. I—” He scratches under his collar. “Probably not.”

“You’re lying.”

He exhales a nervous laugh. “I just—I mean, how would I know? I’ve never met the guy. But every time I see you, you’re alone.”

“I told you, last night he was bowling.”

He raises both palms. “I’m not saying anything. Are there women at the bowling alley?”

“I don’t know.” I haven’t been to a game. Maybe I should, though.

Finn reaches out and hesitantly rubs my bare shoulder. There’s a sheen of sweat at the base of his neck, and my scalp grows hot. I move my hair over one shoulder as he slides his hand a little higher and presses his thumb along my collarbone.

I part my lips, and when he does it again, I close my eyes. “That’s nice.”

He isn’t gentle. I can feel the strength of his hands as he massages my shoulder, then my neck.

“The thing is,” I say in the dark, “I haven’t always been the best wife, but he’s been a flawless husband. That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”

“Have you asked him about it?”

“No. It seems ridiculous to even bring it up. Anyone who knows us . . .” I pause, unable to think of how to explain it. “He wouldn’t.”

We stand quietly for a minute. Finn slips his fingers under the strap of my tank top. It slides down my shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters.

I don’t fix it.

He continues to work the tension out of my neck. “When you say you haven’t been the best wife . . .”

“That’s not what I mean.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been unfaithful. It’s just, when one half of the relationship is perfect, the other half is bound to be a let down, any way you cut it. I don’t always say and do the right thing.”

“And he does?”

“Always,” I whisper. “Until these last two months.”

“What happened two months ago?”

I bite my bottom lip hard. It’s what I’ve been asking myself over and over. One day, he was himself. The next day . . . off. “He found out his father is dying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He turned down a promotion at work so he could stay available for his dad. But a few months ago, I took a promotion, and now I’m making a tiny bit more money than him.”

“Would that upset him enough to ice you out?”

“I don’t think so. The difference is negligible, really.” The Nathan I know wouldn’t be so petty, but lately, I’ve been learning quite a bit about the man I married. “He seemed happy for me.”

“So, you think maybe . . .?”

“What?” I ask.

“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I’m not going to say it first.”

“That he met someone? No. I don’t think so. There must be another explanation.” I open my eyes, and Finn seems closer than he was a few seconds ago.

“Hi,” he says, “again.”

“Hi.” My voice is creaky. “What’s the diagnosis?”

He slides a finger up the back of my neck. Goose bumps light up my skin. “Some tightness, but relatively knot-free.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it is.” He inhales deeply and stares at me. “I have to tell you something.”

My hairline prickles. I can sense it’ll be heavy, and I’m not sure I want to hear it. I force a crooked smile that probably looks as awkward as I feel. “I smell like dog food?”

“I want to kiss you,” he says without missing a beat. “I won’t, but I just thought you should know.”

My stomach drops as if I’m in free fall. I bite my lip involuntarily, then release it, afraid it’ll look like an invitation. Can he really come out and say that? Without prompting, without wavering? You can want to kiss someone and not say it. Should I be angry he confessed that? I’m not. I’m curious. Stirred, even. Since we’re being honest, I ask what I want to ask. “Why?”

“Why do I want to kiss you? Or why did I tell you?”

My heart rate picks up. I lose my nerve. “The second one. That’s not the kind of thing you just come out and say to a stranger. A married stranger.”