Chapter 2Not Mr. Right

Half an hour later, Maia showed up carrying coffee.

Charles jumped up and jogged to the entryway, kicking my slippers out of the way like they were an obstacle.

Then he reached to the top shelf of the cabinet and pulled out a pair of slippers for her, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I bought these for you."

A pair of pink bunny slippers, with two round, wide eyes stitched onto the toes. I'd had them sitting in my shopping cart for half a year.

Every time I'd tried to buy them, he'd stopped me. "You're a grown woman. Are you going to wear something like that? People will laugh at you."

When it was Maia's turn, there were no snarky comments about her being a grown woman, no laughing at her either. He'd charged them straight to the card he'd linked to my account and bought them for her instead.

Catching my look, Maia turned and smiled, giving me a little wave. "Jude, I brought you coffee."

No surprises there — two iced Americanos, and one hot oat-milk latte.

She handed me the latte, and it hit me all at once.

Charles's favorite drink used to be lattes. He had a sweet tooth. He used to say a hot latte tasted just like me — warm and sweet, the kind of thing you couldn't forget once you'd had a taste.

I'd blushed and punched him for saying it, and he'd laughed himself silly, running off while he begged for mercy at the top of his lungs.

After that summer, my own drink of choice changed from Americano to latte.

But somewhere along the way, without my noticing, the cup in his hand had switched to Americano.

I said thanks and headed for the kitchen with the coffee.

Maia plopped down right next to Charles and leaned into his shoulder, waving a hand like it was nothing. "What are we, that you're thanking me for coffee?"

She thought I was thanking her for the coffee.

What I was actually thanking her for was helping me spot a cheating scumbag.

Hot oil crackled and popped in the pan, but it still couldn't drown out the laughter shaking the living room.

Charles fired off one question after another. "Is the SE project design finalized yet? Put your heart into it — the higher-ups are watching this one closely.

"What do you want for lunch tomorrow? Sausage rolls or corn chowder?

"Did you buy the jewelry for your bridesmaid dress yet? Want me to get it for you?"

I listened quietly, and without meaning to, sliced my finger.

I hissed at the sting.

"Jude, what happened?" Maia called out.

I sucked on my finger and answered, half-mumbling, "I cut myself."

"Oh," Maia said, and added, "be more careful, then."

Charles poked his head around the door and glanced at me. Once he'd confirmed I was fine, he shook his head with a scoff.

"You really have gotten worse. Cutting yourself just chopping vegetables."

He didn't bring me a bandage, and he didn't offer to take over. He just leaned against the doorframe and needled me from there.

Back in college, I'd bumped my leg lightly on the back of his electric scooter. He'd panicked so badly he'd carried me on his back all the way to the campus clinic, made the doctor swear up and down a dozen times that I was fine, and only then, eyes red, walked me back to class.

I remembered lying against his back that day, thinking, 'This is probably the person I'll spend my whole life with.'

I never imagined that years later, I'd be bleeding right in front of him and he wouldn't even look twice — that he'd just turn back around and keep laughing it up with Maia.

The blood kept coming, a bright, spreading red.

Charles finally couldn't pretend not to see it. He sighed and stepped over. "Go get that bandaged up. I've got this."

I looked up at him. "I thought you hated cooking?"

He had a sinus condition and always complained that kitchen smoke and steam irritated his nose. Ever since we'd moved in together, cooking and dishes had both fallen to me. Just last week, we'd bickered over whose turn it was to cook and whose turn it was to wash up.

Now he just grunted, pulled on an apron, and rolled up his sleeves, saying, all unhurried, "What choice do I have? A little pig is hungry."

A voice shot back from the living room. "Charles, you're the pig!"

He laughed under his breath and shoved me out of the kitchen.

I stood frozen where he'd left me, thinking that laugh of his was one of the ugliest sounds I'd ever heard.

Maia set down her phone and pulled me over to the couch, the way she used to. She crouched in front of me with the first aid kit, just like old times.

Cotton soaked in antiseptic swept over the cut. Gauze wound around my finger, loop after loop.

I looked at the best friend I'd had since college and felt something complicated settle in my chest.

Back when I'd had acute appendicitis and was writhing in pain in bed, she'd stayed by my side at the hospital the whole night through. The month my wallet had run dry, she'd shown up with a whole case of boxed mac and cheese and eaten it with me.

When Charles and I first got together, she'd clung to me and sobbed until she shook, saying over and over, "Now that you've got a man, don't you dare ditch me."

So when she'd chased after me all the way from Muron City, I'd pulled strings to get her into the design department. And when she'd volunteered to take charge of my wedding, I'd handed her every last detail and thrown myself into the SE project instead.

But I'd only ever imagined how it would start. I never imagined how it would end.

She tied off the last knot in the bandage and looked up at me. "Jude, would you give Charles to me?"