Second Choice Wife novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Guest Wing

By the time I got downstairs, Bridget was sitting at my kitchen island.

She was wearing Heath's old denim jacket.

It was faded to the color of milk, and the sleeves hung over her hands.

The housekeeper had set a pot of coffee in front of her and a plate of toast.

"Morning," Bridget said brightly. "I hope you don't mind. Eleanor said it was in the hall closet. It still smells like him."

"It smells like a closet," I said.

"I used to sleep in it." She smiled at her sleeves. "Funny, isn't it? Ten years."

"Hilarious."

Eleanor poured herself tea at the other end of the counter and didn't look up.

"Naomi, dear, there's a muffin if you want one. The ones from the good bakery. Bridget doesn't eat gluten, so I got both kinds."

"Thank you."

"I didn't want her to feel like a stranger."

"She isn't a stranger," I said. "She's a guest."

Eleanor's eyes came up.

She was fifty-eight, with a silver bob and a back like a fence post.

She had spent fourteen months calling me "dear" in a tone that meant "staff."

"I wasn't aware it was a point of discussion," she said.

"It wasn't, until you put a suitcase outside my bedroom."

"It's outside the guest wing. Six doors from yours."

"Then she'll have a nice walk."

Bridget made a small, hurt sound and pressed her fingers to her lips.

"I can go to a hotel. I don't want to be a burden."

"Don't be silly," Eleanor said at once. "You are family."

I looked at Bridget over my coffee.

She looked back, soft and blue-eyed and calm, with the first hint of something under it.

Heath came in.

He had on a grey shirt and no tie, and his hair was still wet.

He stopped in the doorway.

I watched him see the jacket.

I watched the color leave his face.

"Bridget," he said.

"Good morning." She turned in her stool. "I hope you slept well. I was so tired last night, I barely heard a thing."

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