Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“Still at work for a little longer. I just . . . thought I’d check in.”

I smile. “I’m glad you did.” The bells on the door jingle as other customer leaves.

“Hello?” Chin-Mae asks. I’m being called to the counter. “Name?”

“It’s my turn,” I tell Nathan.

“Okay. Bye.”

He hangs up so quickly, I check the screen, taken aback.

“Name?” Chin-Mae demands. She’s been doing my dry cleaning since I was in college, but she always asks for my name.

“Hunt.” I step up and slump the bag between us. As I remove the tie, my glow over receiving Nathan’s call dims. I show it to her, pointing to the stain. “What is it?” I ask.

She nods and marks it with red tape. “Okay.”

“Do you know what it is?” I point to my mouth. “Lipstick?”

She squints, picking at it with her fingernail. “Okay. No problem.”

I frown. We don’t normally converse beyond this kind of thing. She seems to understand what dog slobber is. Is she agreeing that it’s lipstick? I check her face for judgment. She clearly doesn’t grasp the gravity of the stain.

I leave our clothing and fold up the bag. Finn waits with Ginger, like they’re my new family. So far, our conversation has been easy. Maybe too easy. It should be harder for me to imagine stepping through the doors and slipping an arm around Finn’s waist. I shake the thought out of my head.

“Let’s cross here,” he says when I come out.

“But Home Depot’s on this side.”

He nods down the block. “I know, but there’s a good coffee place over there. My treat.”

“I’m good. I try not to drink caffeine this late.”

“Dessert? Tea? This spot, Quench Coffee, is my favorite.”

“I’ve only been there about a hundred times,” I say. “They have the best pastries. Especially the—”

“Dark chocolate pistachio croissant?”

“Oh my God,” I say, standing up straighter. “Isn’t is to die for?”

“Absolutely. I’d go to my grave right now, as long as I could get a bite on the way.”

I laugh at his serious expression. “Most mornings, I go out of my way for their coffee. They know us there.”

“Sure you don’t want anything?”

I shake my head. “I can wait here with Ginger if you want to grab something.”

“It’s okay,” he says, looking forward with a hint of a frown. “Let’s keep going.”

Ginger and I stay on the sidewalk in front of Home Depot while Finn runs in. During the five minutes he’s gone, my emotions run the gamut. This has been a strangely intimate experience with a man who isn’t my husband. But any guilt vanishes when I remember the tie—the one I bought him. I want to confront Nate. Not just about this, but about his distance the last couple months. Is it someone at work? Is he thinking about her when he’s with me? Has he crossed any lines? My stomach churns. I don’t want to nag him. If it’s a simple crush or flirtation, I don’t begrudge him that.

It’s no worse than me being here with Finn.

What am I even doing here?

I search through the display window for Finn, but I don’t see him. My hair feels windblown, and I wish I had a comb to run through it. The door to Home Depot opens. My heart skips a beat. It isn’t Finn.

I think I have a crush.

SIX

As Finn and I leisurely head toward our apartment building, I convince myself this is as far as our friendship can go. We’re neighbors, and neighbors don’t need to spend this much time together. I have no reason to see him beyond today, other than an occasional “hello again” in the hallway. But when Finn stops at his door and turns to me, with his disheveled, golden hair, I can’t bring myself to say goodnight first.

He shifts his Home Depot bag to the other hand. “So . . .”

“So.”

“About the unpacking. It might actually be nice to have a little help with the kitchen.”

I glance at the metal 6A nailed to his door. “Now?”

“Whenever you’re free, but before Thanksgiving.”

“Big plans?”

“Kind of.” He looks away, at the ground. “The thing is . . .”

I wait. He shifts feet and bobbles his keys in his palm. “Yes?” I ask.

“As I mentioned, I moved to Greenwich for a reason.”

“Work,” I say. “A lot of finance guys do that.”

“Yes, but also—I mean, there were other reasons. So, well, let me back up a little.”

Now, he’s fidgeting with the key ring, pulling it open with his nail. His face is flushed. Is he nervous? Before Nate proposed, he wiped his palms on his pants so many times, I fell into a fit of giggles. Instantly, he calmed, got on one knee, and asked me to marry him. My laughter is better than Xanax, he always says.

But Finn is a stranger. I don’t know his quirks, his telltale signs, his habits. Whatever Finn’s trying to say, it’s personal. We’re just neighbors, though. I need to remember that. And based on the fact that I’m curious about what he can’t get out, I have to stop him.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You don’t need to explain anything.”

“But I want—”

I hold up my hands. “I don’t. I don’t want. Nate is probably waiting.”

“Of course.” He glances at his hands, his expression fallen. It makes me wonder if he wishes someone were waiting for him too.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to rub that in.”

He raises his head a little. His melancholy look morphs to curious. “Rub what in?”

“That someone’s waiting for me, and you’re—” I stop before I put my foot in my mouth.

“What?” he prompts.

Alone. It’s my turn to look sheepish. I want to tell him good luck with his apartment. Moving is one way to learn who your real friends are, but decorating is a whole other beast. I hope he has someone he can call. Instead I say, “Never mind. Goodnight.”

“Night.” He unlocks his door and goes inside.

I take Ginger into my dark apartment. It’s past six, and Nathan isn’t home. I lean back against the door. After a warm, easy evening with Finn, I can’t help acutely feeling the cold distance Nathan has put between us.

Finn may be alone in a new apartment, but right now, I’m alone in my marriage. It’s a first for me. I recognized the loneliness on Finn’s face just now because I feel it too.

Was Finn flirting? Or was he just looking for company, a friendly neighbor to borrow sugar from? Hunky, athletic, kitchen-averse Finn—baking. The image makes me smile. I wonder how far he’s gotten unpacking the kitchen he says he doesn’t use.

I feed Ginger and check my phone. There’s nothing from Nathan. Remembering he might not be home for dinner doesn’t help the emptiness in my chest. I need a distraction, and Finn needs a hand. When we moved into this apartment, Nathan had no problem with the heavy lifting. It was the little things that got to him—getting books on shelves, setting up the printer, organizing the hall closet. That was when I took over. Some light manual labor might get my mind off things.

I leave Nathan a note.

Across the hall. Come get me when you’re home. 6A.

I scribble a heart and stick the Post-It on the refrigerator. Nate will tell me if he’s uncomfortable with me spending time at Finn’s. He’s up front about those things.

I run a brush through my hair. Keys, cell phone, and a portable speaker in hand—music is a lifesaver during the moving process—I walk back to Finn’s place. When I reach his door, I pause. The elevator beeps, on its way up from the lobby. I wait to see if it’s Nate, but it passes our floor, so I knock.

Finn doesn’t answer right away. He takes so long that I wonder if he’s gone back out. I rap a little harder. A third time feels desperate. I’m about to leave when he yanks the door

open. I catch a flash of his abs right before his t-shirt falls over his stomach. He tugs the hem into place and scrubs a hand through his messy hair.

“Bad time?” I ask. He was clearly shirtless, and he’s wearing lounge pants now instead of the jeans he had on earlier.

“No.” He’s out of breath. He gestures behind him. “I was just lifting.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What happened to unpacking?”

“That too. Between reps.”

“Should I come back . . .?”

“No.” He opens the door wider. “Please.”

The dim apartment is warm and smells like Pumpkin Spice. The opposite of friendly. Romantic.

“I’m sorry about the lighting,” he says. “I only have one lamp that I’ve been moving from room to room. I’m waiting on a furniture delivery with the rest.”

Several lit candles in the main room explain why it smells like fall. “It’s cozy.”

It’s an odd feeling, walking into an apartment identical to mine, but with hardly any furniture and a new carpet. His white walls make it seem bigger than ours, but also harsher. Nathan and I painted the living room grayish-blue in April on a day when I got my period. We’d discussed buying a two-bedroom apartment in this neighborhood. Nathan had been up for a promotion, and we knew we’d need a nursery eventually. But the idea hasn’t come up in months, not since it became clear pregnancy wasn’t going to come easily.

“You should paint,” I say. “The white is very . . .”

“White,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Maybe, if I have the time.” He nods at the speaker. “What’s that?”

“Changed my mind about helping you out. I brought music in case you don’t have anything set up.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day. One of them, anyway.” He glances at a box next to us and slides it with his foot behind the door. “Let’s go in the kitchen.”

I follow him. His place has a hallway with four doors, all of them closed except for a bathroom. A three-bedroom apartment seems excessive for a single man. Then again, maybe he’s planning ahead.

The kitchen has no candles, but there’s an overhead light Finn doesn’t switch on. He’s unwrapping something in a plastic bag. I wait in the doorway as my eyes adjust.