Chapter 2The Scent of His Betrayal

"I won't be home tonight."

The next morning, Gavin stood before the hall mirror, tightening the knot of his knit tie.

I sat at the breakfast island, watching him chew a dry piece of sprouted toast.

"The patisserie’s anniversary showcase is next week," he continued, slipping his keys into his pocket. "The pastry team still hasn't finalized the tasting flight. I’m crashing on the cot in the back office."

He reached for his coat. "Don't wait up."

The front door clicked shut.

I set down my coffee mug. The room was empty, yet that faint, cloying scent of fermented decay still hovered in the foyer, refusing to dissipate.

At ten that morning, I drove down to the patisserie.

When I pushed open the heavy brass-trimmed door, Sadie was the only one on the floor, polishing the glass sneeze guards.

"Morning, Nora!" She turned around, offering that same radiant, uncomplicated smile.

I nodded, my eyes sweeping the open kitchen behind her. "Where’s Gavin?"

Sadie lowered her microfiber cloth. "Oh, he drove out to the organic dairy collective in Lancaster County. Said he needed to inspect the cultured butter batches himself. He won't be back until late afternoon."

The room seemed to tilt. "Lancaster?"

"Yeah," Sadie said, completely unaware of the ground crumbling beneath her feet. "He said if we’re going to market this anniversary menu as single-origin, he wanted to see the vats with his own eyes."

I stared at her smooth, innocent face. A cold weight settled heavily into the pit of my stomach.

Gavin had lied to my face.

He wasn't working late on the line, and he certainly wasn't inspecting milk vats three hours away.

At three in the afternoon, Gavin’s dark grey Audi pulled into the alley behind the shop.

He came through the service door holding a cardboard tray of iced cold brews. "Afternoon, team. Step away from the ovens for five minutes and take a break."

He handed the cups out to the pastry apprentices, then turned toward the marble prep station.

"Nora?" He froze for a fraction of a second, the coffee tray wobbling in his grip, before smooth professionalism smoothed his features over. "What are you doing here?"

"Came by to see the new anniversary flight," I said, holding his gaze. "How was Lancaster? Did the butter pass your inspection?"

Gavin’s hand stalled as he set the cup down. He spun around and shot a vicious, warning glare at Sadie.

Sadie shrank back against the prep rack, looking utterly bewildered.

"It was fine," Gavin said, turning back to me, his tone dropping an octave into calculated calm. "Traffic on the turnpike was brutal, that’s all. Ate up half my day."

The ease with which the lie rolled off his tongue made the hair on my arms stand up.

I took two steps toward him.

The bright citrus note was still there, lingering on the edges of his collar, but underneath it, that putrid, rotting-meat stench had doubled in strength since last night. It hung about him like an invisible shroud, thick enough to choke on.

That evening, after closing time, Gavin kept Sadie behind.

"There’s a discrepancy in the inventory ledger from last quarter," he said, tapping the back-office glass. "Sadie, stay and help me cross-reference the invoices."

Sadie nodded meekly, taking a seat at the secondary workstation.

Gavin turned to me, his car keys already resting on his palm. "Go on home, Nora. This is going to take hours."

I didn't reach for my coat. "I’ll wait."

His jaw tightened. "I just told you, it’s going to be past midnight. What are you going to do, sit on a folding chair and stare at the wall?"

"I’m going to watch you," I said simply.

The air in the front lobby went dead.

Gavin glanced nervously toward the glass office where Sadie was pretending to study an Excel spreadsheet. He leaned in close, his voice a harsh, furious whisper.

"Nora, do you have any idea how unhinged you sound right now? Keep your dignity. Sadie is twenty-two years old."

"Dignity is earned, Gavin," I whispered back. "If you’re truly reconciling receipts, what difference does it make if your wife is in the room?"

Gavin drew in a long, ragged breath, his knuckles turning white around his keys. "Fine. Waste your night. Suit yourself."

He stormed into the office and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

Outside, I sat on the banquette in the darkened front lounge. Sadie didn't dare make a sound. The hum of the industrial coolers kept time with the pounding behind my temples.

At one in the morning, the office door finally swung open.

Gavin emerged, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. "Let’s go."

He didn't look at me once as we locked up.

The drive home along the expressway was suffocating. Rain began to mist against the windshield, the wipers squeaking rhythmically against the glass.

I broke the silence without turning my head. "You seem exhausted lately, Gavin."

His grip on the leather steering wheel tightened. "It’s third-quarter expansion. You know how much capital is on the line."

"Is it the expansion that’s wearing you down?" I asked. "Or the number of people you’re trying to juggle?"

The car jerked as he hit the brakes hard at a yellow light. He turned his head, his profile sharp and unforgiving in the glare of the dash lights.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Where were you yesterday morning, Gavin? Really."

The last shred of his practiced composure snapped. "I told you. Checking the books and checking the supply chain. If you don't believe me, go ask Sadie yourself."