5. Felicity

felicity

. . .

“God, I love your kitchen.” I paused halving a pint of cherry tomatoes to take a sip of white wine. “I feel like I’m in a dream right now.”

“That’s because you gave me the shitty job.” Hutton had to look away from the pungent onion he was chopping.

“Sorry. Even I hate chopping onions.” I laughed and gestured to our surroundings, wine glass in hand. “But if I got to do it in this kitchen every day, even that job wouldn’t feel so bad.”

Hutton glanced around, like he’d never really noticed the gorgeous wood floors, the elegant ebony-stained cabinetry, the gleaming marble counters, the stunning Thermidor range and stainless appliances. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

I swished one bare foot across the floor’s smooth surface—I’d ditched my sneakers and socks because I loved the satin feel of them beneath my soles. “It’s more than nice. It’s probably good I don’t have this kitchen. I’d never leave my house.”

“You’re welcome to use mine whenever you want. But not if you make me chop onions.” He pushed the cutting board toward me. “Here. I’m done.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at him, and my belly did the funny flip-flop thing again. He looked so good . He’d taken off his coat and tie, loosened his collar, and cuffed up his sleeves. He had this one lock of hair that refused to submit to any product or stay off his face. It was always springing forward onto his forehead in a way that made me want to brush it out of his eyes.

It was easy to imagine this was what our life might be like if we really were a couple. My skin warmed, and I quickly focused on my tomatoes.

“What’s my next task?” he asked.

“Is the water boiling?”

He moved behind me to look at the pot on the stove. “Yes.”

“Okay. I need a large sauté pan.”

He opened a large lower drawer and stared into it. “I have a bunch of pans. I’m not sure which one you need.”

Laughing, I turned around and peered into the drawer. “You do have a bunch—and they’re very nice. Did they come with the house?”

“No. The house was furnished, but I hired someone to stock the kitchen with anything I might need.”

My jaw fell open. “That’s a thing?”

“Sure—for a price.” He watched me pull out a shiny stainless sauté pan and place it on a burner.

“So you just say, ‘I want a kitchen full of beautiful things, here’s my credit card?’ And you don’t have to shop for anything yourself?”

“Exactly. That’s the best part about making a lot of money—you can pay people to do the things you don’t want to do, like shopping.”

“You should have just asked me,” I said. “I would have enjoyed it, and I would have done it for free.”

“I wouldn’t have let you do it for free.”

“Then I would have taken your money and blown it on good food and wine for us. I need olive oil,” I said, turning on the heat beneath the pan.

He went over to the pantry and brought me a tall glass bottle. “What else?”

“Dump the gnocchi in the water and keep an eye on them. Let me know when they float to the top.”

He did what I asked, watching the little pillow-shaped blobs so diligently I had to smile.

“So what’s the worst part?” I asked, adding the garlic, onions, chopped zucchini, and the kernels from two ears of corn to the pan.

“Huh?”

“You said being able to pay people to do things you don’t want to do is the best part of making lots of money—so what’s the worst?”

He thought for a moment. “People assume things about you. Like that you’re greedy or a scammer or you cheated somehow. Especially with crypto, because it’s not easy for the average person to understand.”

“Like me. I don’t get it at all,” I confessed with a laugh, stirring my veggies.

“Oh shit—I didn’t mean that to sound insulting,” he said quickly.

“Relax.” I touched his arm. “I know what you meant. And it’s true—if you’re not in the banking industry, crypto is not easy to understand. And when people can’t understand something, especially when it relates to huge sums of money, it seems sketchy.”

“There are sketchy people in crypto. And U.S. regulators love to find them and shut their operations down. But I’m not one of them. And HFX isn’t perfect, but the industry is moving so fast, it’s hard for regulators to keep up. If they wanted to work with us, they could—we could find the balance between growing the industry and preventing crimes and enforcing laws they want in place. But they’re often more interested in playing gotcha.”

“It probably sells more newspapers,” I said, adding the tomatoes to the pan.

“And gets them re-elected.” Hutton frowned at the boiling water. “I have to testify in front of the House Committee on Financial Services.”

My eyes widened. “The House, meaning U.S. Congress?”

“That’s the one. I haven’t said anything about it because I was hoping to delay it. Or better yet, avoid it altogether.”

Grabbing the bottle of wine from the island, I poured us both some more and handed Hutton his glass. “When will it happen?”

He took a long swallow before answering. “In about three weeks. July 28th.”

“Holy shit. Alone?”

“No, there will be five other CEOs there.”

“Well, that helps, right?”

“I guess. Unless everyone else sounds like they know what they’re talking about and I sound like a fucking idiot.”

“You won’t.” I reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “Can’t your partner testify instead of you? Wade?”

“He’ll be there, but Wade doesn’t do what I do. He’s East Coast old money, a member of the club, knows all the right people—but that’s not necessarily helpful in this situation. Wade had the capital to invest at the start and he’s good with people, which is why we’re a good team, but he doesn’t know the back end like I do. The things are floating, by the way.” He pointed at the gnocchi.

“Good. Got a colander?”

Hutton hunted around until he found one, and I drained the gnocchi before adding it to the pan with the vegetables. “So do you have a choice whether or not to testify?” I asked.

“Not really. I mean, I could cash out of HFX and abandon the algorithm I created along with the company I co-founded. But that would look fucking terrible. Like I was a criminal or had things to hide.”

“So you have to do it?”

“I have to do it.”

“Well, I think you’ll be great,” I said, putting a smaller stainless pan on the stove to brown some butter for the sauce. “I have full confidence in you.”

He laughed. “Are you forgetting who I am?”

“Not at all! I know exactly who you are. You got this.” I patted his chest, although he was going to think I was insane if I kept touching him. I wasn’t normally so physically affectionate, but he’d been so good to me tonight, and he looked so cute, and his body was so warm and firm. I wondered what he looked like with his clothes off. He worked out every day—it had to show, right? He was lean, but he probably had nice muscles. Those masculine lines and ridges.

My face heated as I imagined his body above mine. The lights off. The door closed.

Stop it , I scolded myself, turning away and taking a quick sip of cool wine. He rescued you tonight because you’re friends. Because you used the code. Because you begged. You’re not here because he wants you in bed.

But when I glanced at him again, he was definitely looking at my bare legs.

When the brown butter basil gnocchi was done, we sat down at the table by the window to eat.

“So were you shocked when you got that text from me with the encrypted message?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m ashamed to say it took me a minute to recognize it.”

I laughed. “I had to write out the cipher key first.”

“Same.” Hutton picked up his wine glass for a sip. “But I think about that night in the library sometimes.”

I stopped chewing for a second, then swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He took a bite of his gnocchi. “I remember...what you told me.”

“About Carla—my mother?”

He nodded. “Do you ever talk to her?”

“Not really. She reaches out every once in a while, but...” My voice trailed off. “It was pretty obvious when she left that Mom was a role she was done playing. According to her, she never wanted it in the first place. At least, that’s what she said that night.”

“That must have been hard. I always wondered...never mind.” Hutton took another bite.

“What? You can ask me.”

He hesitated again, but eventually spoke. “I guess I just wondered how that happened. How you overheard it—what she said.”

“I was eavesdropping on a fight my parents were having after I was supposed to be asleep.”

“Oh.” He nodded in understanding.

“There was a huge thunderstorm that night, and those always made me nervous. I used to go to my parents’ room and ask if I could sleep in their bed. Sometimes they’d let me, other times my dad would tuck me back into my bed again and stay with me until I fell asleep. But that night, when I got out of bed and crept into the hall, I heard them fighting.”

“I’m sorry,” Hutton said quietly.

“They fought a lot back then.” I reached for my wine, but I knew nothing would ever fully take the sting out of what I’d heard that night. Not wine, not distance, not time.

I took another swallow as their argument replayed in my head, as clearly as if they’d had it last night—my dad telling my mom they couldn’t afford her out-of-control spending, my mother lashing back about being neglected and ignored, my dad shushing her so they wouldn’t wake up the kids, my mother calling him horrible names and accusing him of favoring his daughters over his wife...

You’re drunk, Carla.

So what? What do you care? You don’t! You’ve never cared about me. You don’t love me. You only married me because I got pregnant! You did your duty after you knocked me up!

Knocked her up? That had thrown me. Had my daddy hit my mommy? Is that how you got a baby?

I did the right thing for our family, he insisted.

Fuck you, Mack! I never wanted your kids in the first place. I hardly want them now.

As I told Hutton about the argument, goosebumps blanketed my arms. “I heard her say, ‘I never wanted your kids in the first place. I hardly want them now.’ I remember curling my body into a ball underneath the covers, like I was trying to make myself disappear.”

Hutton reached out and touched my wrist.

“He told her she didn’t know what she was saying. That she didn’t mean it. And she said he wasn’t in charge of her thoughts and didn’t get to decide how she felt about being a mother. She said she was sick and tired of her life. And when he said they could talk about it tomorrow and they should just go to bed, she said she’d already been to bed with someone that night, and it wasn’t him.”

“Fuck,” said Hutton.

“It confused me. I didn’t understand why my mother would have a bed somewhere else.” I took a breath. “My dad said he was tired of the arguing and she should just say what she wanted, and her answer was, ‘I want out.’”

“And she didn’t want to take you guys with her?”

I almost laughed. “No. But she wouldn’t have been able to anyway. The first thing my dad said was, ‘The girls stay with me.’”

He smiled. “Good for your dad.”

“He’s the best. And that did make me feel good—at least my dad still loved me. But it messed with my head, you know? Hearing my mother say those things. Up to that point, I thought all moms wanted kids. Suddenly that wasn’t true. My mother didn’t want me.” I sighed. “I went back into the bedroom and over to the desk where Millie had been working on a project for school, and I picked up the scissors. That was the first time I cut my hair.”

“Ah.”

“The next morning, everyone asked me why I’d done it, and I made something up. I never told anyone what I’d overheard.”

“Never?”

I shook my head. “No. I was scared of getting in trouble. All I could think of was that a good girl would not have listened. I was young, but I knew eavesdropping was wrong. I didn’t want my dad to be mad, I didn’t want my sisters to be hurt, and I was too ashamed to tell my friends. When they asked me why my mom moved out, I lied and said she had to go take care of her sick grandmother in Georgia.”

“That’s a lot of baggage for a kid to carry around.”

“It was. But I survived.”

He nodded. “I’m curious. What made you tell me at the library?”

“Honestly?” I reached for my wine again and finished it. Plunking the empty glass down, I said, “I have to confess—it was kind of an accident.”

Hutton got up, went to the wine fridge, and pulled out a new bottle. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how I sometimes say random things when I get nervous?”

“Like being engaged to a billionaire?” He worked the cork from the bottle with a noisy pop. “That our wedding is next month?”

I laughed. “Exactly. The library was one of those times.”

“What were you nervous about at the library?”

Heat rushed my face and I put my hands over my cheeks. “It’s too embarrassing. I can’t tell you.”

“Come on.” He poured us both more wine.

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. I was nervous because I thought you might kiss me.”

“And you didn’t want me to.” He sat down again.

“What?” I stared at him in disbelief. “No! I totally wanted you to. But I’d never kissed a boy before, and I had no idea how to do it. I was like, ‘What if it’s awkward? What if my glasses get in the way? What do I do with my gum?’ Then I panicked.”

He started to chuckle. “Sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t laugh, but the two of us were having the exact same moment of panic. I wanted to kiss you and couldn’t bring myself to make a move. My head was racing with all these ways it could go wrong, and I wasn’t sure you even wanted me to kiss you in the first place. I thought maybe I was misreading the signs.”

“You weren’t,” I said, shaking my head. “God, can you imagine what we must have looked like? Sitting there on the edges of our seats, our faces inches apart...”

“I was sweating buckets,” said Hutton. “It was probably dripping off my forehead.”

“I didn’t notice. But it felt like an eternity went by and nothing happened, so I figured you must not see me like that. I had to say something to break the tension, and for whatever reason, the thing about my mom came out.”

“I remember having no clue what to say. So I wrote the encoded note.”

I smiled. “That was the perfect response. It made me feel better.”

“Good.”

We sat there for a moment, not touching our food or wine, just looking at each other. It was like time had rolled backward, and we were in the library all over again. If I were someone else, I thought, Millie or Winnie or anyone else, I’d get up and sit on his lap. I’d straddle his thighs and put my hands in his hair and tell him it’s time we gave ourselves a second chance at that first kiss. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster.

But then he said, “It’s probably good that we didn’tmess around back then. Don’t you think?”

I blinked, then recovered fast. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. It would have made things weird with us.”

“Right,” he said, but there was something unconvincing in his voice. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure, but you’re probably right. It might not have been worth the risk.”

I reached for my wine and he picked up his fork.

He’d said might .

Might wasn’t a certainty. Might left room for doubt. Might created space for hope.

Beneath the table, I crossed my fingers.

After dinner, I loaded the dishwasher while Hutton put the leftovers away and then cleaned the stainless pans by hand. I laughed as I watched him at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away with a sponge. “I bet you’re the only billionaire washing pots and pans tonight,” I teased.

“Probably,” he said.

“I think it’s good.” I patted his shoulder. “Shows character. Like you haven’t forgotten where you came from. Hand them to me and I’ll dry.”

Side by side, we got everything washed, dried, and put away. When only our wine glasses were left, Hutton glanced at the half-empty bottle. “Do you want to stay a little longer? Finish the wine?”

I hesitated. “If we finish that bottle, I won’t be able to drive home.”

“So stay over,” he said. “I have plenty of guest rooms.”

“A sleepover?” I feigned being scandalized, touching my fingertips to my chest. “Before we’re married? What would the townsfolk say?”

He laughed, grabbing the bottle and emptying it into our glasses. “They’re probably already talking about us. Come on, let’s go out on the deck. I don’t think the rain has started yet.”

Outside, the air was thick with the sharp, ominous scent of ozone. I sank into the cushions at one end of an outdoor couch, and Hutton sat down next to me, on the center cushion.

Close.

There were no other houses nearby, no lights in the woods, no noise except for the crickets and warm, summer wind rustling through the branches. I tucked my feet underneath me and smoothed my dress over my thighs. “It’s so dark out here. So isolated.”

“That’s what sold me on the place.”

I laughed, poking his shoulder. “You’re such a grumpy old man.”

“I’m twenty-eight. I’m a grumpy young man.”

“Fine. You’re a grumpy young man.” I sipped my wine. “But you know what? You have to deal with a lot of people wanting to be up in your personal business all the time, so I shouldn’t criticize. You deserve privacy when you want it.”

“Can you please tell my mother that?”

I laughed. “I wonder what happened with Cleopatra tonight.”

“No idea. She said she was going to introduce her to Harvey. He’s my dad’s widowed friend.”

“Aw, that’s nice. She just wants people to be happy.”

“You can be happy without a serious relationship,” Hutton said, a tad defensively.

“True.” I took another sip of wine and thought I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. “Unless you’re lonely, or you really want a family.”

“I’m never lonely,” he said.

“What about a family?” I asked. “Do you ever think about getting married? Having kids?”

Hutton set an ankle on the opposite knee. “Not really. I don’t know if I’d make a good dad.”

Surprised, I shifted to face him, my knees bumping up against his thigh. I rested my elbow along the back of the couch and propped my head in my hand. “What makes you say that? You’re great with your nieces and nephew.”

“Yeah, but being an uncle is different. It’s less pressure. You can just have fun with them. You’re not really responsible for their upbringing.” He paused. “I don’t know if I’d have the temperament to be a good dad. I get really irritated and impatient sometimes. I can be irrational and stubborn. My brother-in-law, Neil, is so easygoing and relaxed.”

“All different kinds of people can be great dads. My dad was stubborn too. He definitely got irritated. And he had such a foul mouth, the swear jar would be overflowing by the end of the week.” I laughed at the memory of his stuffing dollar bills into it after a lengthy rant that included several F bombs. “He wasn’t perfect. But he was an awesome dad.”

Hutton set his wine glass on the table, then folded his arms. “What about you? Do you want kids?”

“I do, but I need to figure some stuff out first.”

“What kind of stuff?”

I lifted my shoulders. “How to be in a healthy relationship.”

He laughed shortly. “I’ve got no advice on that front. I’d be an even shittier husband than father.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Experience.”

“Oh yeah?” I nudged his leg. “Is there a wife you’re hiding somewhere? As your fake fiancée, I should know this.”

He gave me a sideways grin. “No, I’ve never been married. But I’ve tried to have relationships, and I suck at them. I have literally been told that I suck at them.”

“That’s not nice.”

He shrugged. “It’s honest.”

“I guess I’d value kindness over honesty in that situation.”

“Didn’t matter. And I didn’t even really care.”

I looked at what was left of my wine and swirled it around. “Are we talking about Zlatka?”

“She’s the one who told me I sucked most recently, but she’s not the only one who felt that way—and I never blamed them. No one wants to date a recluse who hates going places.”

“That’s all it was? You never liked going out?”

“That was a lot of it. But there were other problems too. I’m not good at talking about things. I’m better at—never mind.” He leaned forward and picked up his wine again. Finished it in one long swallow.

“What?” I nudged him again. “Tell me.”

“I’m better at the physical stuff than the emotional stuff.”

My core muscles contracted, and I dropped my eyes to my lap. “You mean sex stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s important too,” I said, wondering exactly what he was good at and whether it was wrong of me to want to find out. “Good physical chemistry with someone.”

He set his empty glass back on the table. “Actually, I don’t even think Zlatka and I were that compatible when it came to sex.”

“Why not?”

“Certain things I liked, she didn’t.”

I took a breath for courage. “Such as?”

He paused. “Let’s just say that Zlatka does not like being told what to do or not do, and I enjoy that kind of control.”

I poured the rest of my wine down my throat.

“But there were other problems. She constantly accused me of avoiding any situation or conversation I didn’t want to be in, and she was right. I do avoid those. Eventually, our relationship fell into that category.”

“You don’t miss her?”

“Fuck no. She was exhausting. And I’ve never missed anyone.” He met my eyes. “I mean, except for you. There have been many times in my life when I’ve missed you.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Our lips were not that far apart, and I was not chewing gum this time. If I leaned toward him a little, would he?—

Lightning flashed above the trees behind him, the sound cracking like a rifle shot a second later. “Oh!”

He put a hand on my leg as the rumble of thunder followed. “You okay?”

“Yes. Sorry.” A little sheepish, I lifted my shoulders. “Storms still make me jumpy.”

“Let’s go in.” Hutton stood up, grabbing our empty wine glasses from the table. “I’ll show you the guest rooms, and you can take your pick.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?” I followed him into the house.

“Yes. I could call and ask my mom, but I’m pretty sure she’d be in favor of it,” he joked, sliding the glass door closed with his elbow.

“Mine too. Actually, I am going to text her and let her know I’m staying here, just so she doesn’t worry.”

“Good idea.”

The first bedroom Hutton showed me was on the main floor, its door right across the hall from the master suite. It had a queen-sized bed made up with pretty white eyelet bedding and its own bathroom. “This is perfect,” I said, sinking down on the bed.

Hutton lingered in the doorway. “The other two bedrooms are on the lower level, if you’d like more privacy.”

“Listen, I’ve been living with my parents and two teenage sisters for six months. This is heaven.”

He laughed. “Okay. Can I get you anything?”

“Got a spare toothbrush? Maybe an old T-shirt I could sleep in?”

“Be right back.”

While he was gone, I texted my mom that I was staying at Hutton’s and would be home in the morning. I noticed that I had notifications from Dearly Beloved and Instagram, but I ignored them and turned my phone off—I’d deal with the outside world tomorrow.

I’d just set my phone on the nightstand when Hutton appeared holding a folded white shirt, a toothbrush still in the package, and a travel tube of toothpaste on top. “Will this work?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I stood up and took everything from him, and our hands touched in the process. A jolt of heat shot up my arms.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Need anything else?”

“Nope. I’m good.” Thunder boomed loudly from outside, and I jumped.

“You okay?”

“No.” I laughed, embarrassed. Without thinking, I made a quick joke. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Hutton’s face went white.

“I’m kidding,” I said, my face growing hot. “Because of what I told you earlier. Don’t worry, I won’t?—”

“You can if you want to.”

“—actually crawl into your . . . huh?”

“You can sleep in my bed. If you want to. I mean, if you’re scared.”

What if I’m not scared and I just want to be close to you?

But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

Instead, I just smiled. “Thanks. But I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Goodnight.” He left the room quickly, pulling the door shut behind him.

I stood there for a moment staring at it. What just happened? Did I just reject an invitation? Did he want me to crawl into his bed tonight? Or was he just being nice?

Why were we so bad at this?

I kept obsessing over it as I took out my space buns, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and traded my dress and push-up bra for his T-shirt. The clean white cotton felt cool and soft against my skin. Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I wondered what to do. There had been moments tonight when we’d edged close to crossing the line. I knew I hadn’t imagined it.

But he’d also said things that led me to believe he didn’t want to risk our friendship just to mess around—and I didn’t either. What we had was rare.

What I wanted was reckless.

Turning off all the lights, I slipped between the sheets and stared into the dark. Rain drummed on the roof, punctuated by the occasional flash of lightning and growl of thunder.

Would one night of engaging in some questionable behavior ruin years of friendship? Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe we could just get a little naked and see what happened. Let our lips meet. Let our hands wander. Let go of our inhibitions in the dark.

Thunder boomed, so powerful it shook the house.

“This is crazy,” I whispered to myself, but I threw the covers back, swung my feet to the floor, hurried over to the door and threw it open.

Then I gasped.

Hutton stood there in the dark—shirtless—his hand raised as if he’d been about to knock.