Eligible Ex-husband - Marie Johnston Page 0,49

“She’s probably not comfortable pointing out that the demands of her job have changed, but the pay hasn’t. Or that the extra work interferes with her home life.”

“I’m not a bad boss. Why wouldn’t she be willing to talk to me about her position?”

“Just because you would have no problem shooting the breeze with your boss before transitioning into your opinion on work and how much you’re paid doesn’t mean everyone is like that.”

She’s referring to the time in college when I turned a non-paid intern position into one with a decent hourly wage. I think about her point and make a mental note to talk to Helena when we get back in the office next week. Maybe I should check in with Charlie too.

When she breezes by me, I snag her arm and gently pull her in. “Thank you.”

She tilts her head back. “For what?”

“You make me a better man. A better boss.”

She softens under me and I go in for a kiss. Giggles at the sliding door precede the whoosh of it opening.

Natalie stiffens and spins around to grab the silverware for tonight. I let a beat of disappointment hit me in the chest before reaching over her to get the plates.

“Mom, guess what?” Abby’s grin widens. “Dad! Guess what?”

Maddy crowds around her. “She can flip.”

Natalie’s brow raises. Sometimes these guessing games aren’t nearly as exciting for us. “Flip over what?”

“Off the back of the swing,” Abby answers. “Watch.”

Our supper planning is paused as we go out to watch. All I can think about—other than hoping Abby’s flip is as innocent as skipping across soft grass and not something that gives me an early heart attack—is how fast Natalie pulled away.

She’s really afraid the girls will find out. To me, that means she lacks confidence in us.

I’m going to change her mind. And I’ll recruit her parents into giving us a date night to do it.

Chapter 15

Simon

Natalie fidgets with the menu, flipping it back and forth. She’s uncomfortable and I start to doubt myself. I made reservations at one of the few fine-dining places open on a Sunday. The girls are sleeping at Natalie’s parents and will come home tomorrow at lunch.

Her nerves bring back memories.

The year before we were going to graduate college, Natalie showed up on my apartment doorstep, her eyes full of tears, and told me that she was pregnant.

We’d been dating nearly two years by then and had our future planned out. Her feelings had streamed across her face along with her tears. She’d thought she’d lose me. She thought our hopes and dreams would radically change.

Her family was waiting to move to where we ended up, but she thought she’d be moving back in with her parents and trying to finish her degree online. Each tear that had streaked down her face was evidence that she thought I’d rocket out and live my best life, sending her and the kid a little money here and there.

I wasn’t worried. That night, I looked at the girl I fell head over heels for and thought about the ring burning in my pocket. I’d wait to propose until she knew I was doing it for her and not because she was pregnant.

I’d pulled her into my arms, told her everything was going to be all right and between me and her parents, we’d get through school—together. My own parents thought I was insane, but I didn’t miss their lack of surprise. It was a given that I wouldn’t live up to my brother. Ever.

Those years had been hard, but some of our best ones. They laid a thick foundation that I never thought would fracture.

But it did. And tonight I have to convince Natalie once more that divorce is only a bump in the road. No, that’s not right. It’s like the arrival of Abby. An event that puts out signs of where our life is going. We don’t have to change course if we don’t want to.

“Everything’s so… adult,” she whispers.

This is supposed to be a fun evening. We couldn’t afford places like this when we were a young couple with small kids. By the time we could, we just didn’t. Natalie would probably say it was because I was working all the time and yes, that had something to do with it.

I think we forgot to make us a priority. We still aren’t and Natalie won’t change her mind. The girls came first.

“They serve the same food you buy at the farmer’s market.” The