She Bought My Husband for Seven Days, So I Took Back Everything novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Lunch for the Wife

Brent skips Elise's move and Davis steps in; Lacey brings lunch and hugs her warmly, then a photo from Brent shows Lacey in his anniversary shirt.

On Monday morning, the company truck pulled up to my new studio, and it was not my husband driving.

The house key was still on my mind.

I had photographed both sides of the tag on Saturday and slid it back under his shirts.

Welcome home, in Lacey's handwriting, on a key three years old.

Brent had left before dawn without a word, and the photo sat in my phone like a stone.

Davis Lundquist climbed down from the cab in his canvas jacket.

He was Brent's foreman, and he had fixed my shop's door, my shelves and my leaking sink for six years without ever sending a bill.

"Brent told me to bring the wall," he said.

"Did he say why he isn't here?"

"He said you'd understand."

I looked at the empty seat beside him.

"I don't."

Davis took off his cap.

"Then I'm sorry, Mrs. Garner. I didn't know about the week until he gave me the schedule on Friday."

"You saw the gala video."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me Elise."

He nodded once and started unstrapping the walnut panels.

Wanda came out of the studio with a clipboard and her glasses on her head.

"Boss, the sample racks are in the wrong corner, and the first customer is a decorator who wants to see velvet at ten."

"Since when do we have a decorator?"

"Since the gala clip got two million views." She held up her phone. "People think you're a hero. Somebody sent flowers."

I laughed.

Then the smell of the truck's diesel hit me, and I ran for the restroom.

When I came back, Davis had set a paper cup of ginger tea on the nearest crate.

He didn't say anything about it.

I didn't either.

By nine, the first panel was on the wall.

By ten, the velvet was on the racks, and the decorator was fingering the swatches and asking for a quote on forty yards.

By eleven, Davis had hung every light on the ceiling track, and Wanda had stopped calling him "the foreman" and started calling him "that boy."

At noon, my phone buzzed with a photo from Lacey.

It showed a pot of soup and a kitchen window.

The message said: Settled in! Brent already fixed my sink. You okay? I'm bringing lunch.

I stared at the photo.

Then I put the phone face down on the cutting table and went back to the pinning.

Twenty minutes later, the studio door opened.

Lacey came in with a paper bag from the deli on Fifth, two iced teas and a smile.

"I couldn't stand it," she said. "You're the one working, and I'm the one with the party. Here. Club sandwiches. You love those."

I had been eating them for ten years.

"You didn't have to come," I said.

"Of course I did." She set the bag on the table and took my hand. "I know it looks awful. I'm so sorry, Elise. If I'd known he hadn't told you the dates, I would never have bid."

Her fingers were warm, and the silver bracelet slid down her wrist.

It was the same warm hand that had held mine at the clinic.

"The dates were printed on the screen," I said.

"I was looking at the donors." Her eyes filled. "I only wanted to help. Everyone in that house has left, and the quiet is terrible."

Wanda stood three feet away with her arms folded.

"Lunch," Wanda said, to nobody. "How thoughtful."

Lacey turned and gave her a polite nod. "Hello, Wanda."

"Mm."

Lacey took a pin cushion from the table and started helping me tag the swatches.

"I'll make sure he leaves Thursday afternoon, so he can come back to help you. And I'll send him with a casserole."

"I don't need him."

"You do," Lacey said gently. "You always say you don't, and then you need him the most."

Behind her, Davis stopped with a light fixture in his hands.

His eyes met mine for a moment.

Then he went back to the ceiling track.

Lacey hugged me before she left, and she held on a little too long.

"Take care of yourself," she said in my ear. "You've got a lot on your plate."

Then she was gone, and the bell above the door rang behind her.

I stood in the new studio with a half-eaten sandwich in my hand and a sick feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the baby.

Davis came and stood beside the cutting table.

"Mrs. Garner. Elise." He rubbed his jaw. "I put in for the whole week off from the crew. I can be here all of it, if you want."

"Brent will fire you."

"He can try."

His voice was flat and quiet, and it didn't shake.

"Thank you," I said.

At four o'clock, my phone buzzed again.

It was Brent.

The text said: Told you. Guest room has a single bed. I'm fine!

Under it was a photo of a narrow bed with a plaid blanket.

He had taken it in the long mirror on the closet door, so his own shoulder was in the corner.

I zoomed in.

Behind his shoulder, in the mirror, a woman stood in the bedroom doorway.

She wore a gray henley with the sleeves pushed up.

It was Brent's henley, the one I had bought him for our anniversary.

And the woman wearing it was Lacey.

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