He Texted the Wrong Chat, So I Moved In With Her Husband novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Soup

Casey plays calm in Lydia's apartment, sees the Rafe calendar with a heart on Denver, accepts the invitation to Denver, and learns from Eli that Dillon owes a lender forty-eight thousand dollars due in eight weeks.

I returned the soup pot to Lydia's apartment at six that evening.

Eli parked at the curb with the engine running.

"I'll be right here," he said. "If you scream, I'm up those stairs. If you laugh, I'm coming up anyway."

"Why would I laugh?"

"Because you're about to lie to your best friend. It's going to be a lot."

I took the pot and climbed three flights.

Lydia opened the door in a soft gray sweater. Her eyes were swollen. She hugged me before I could say hello.

"You came," she said into my shoulder. "I was so scared you wouldn't."

I let her hold me.

I waited a beat.

Then I hugged her back.

"I was awful this morning," I said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

Lydia pulled away and searched my face.

"You don't have to apologize."

"I do. You made me soup, and I put it on a step."

She laughed, wet and relieved, and wiped her eyes with her wrist. "Come in. Sit. I'll heat some up."

Her apartment was small and neat, and I had been in it a hundred times.

I knew the plant on the sill, the blue couch, the shelf of travel books.

On the kitchen wall hung a calendar I had never looked at closely.

It was a Rafe Tolland calendar, the kind sold in his online shop. Each square had a city printed across the top.

Thursday's square was circled in red.

Next to it, in Lydia's neat handwriting, was a tiny heart.

"That's new," I said.

Lydia glanced at it and flushed.

"Oh, God. Don't. I'm thirty minutes from being one of those women who writes him fan mail."

"You have a heart on Denver."

"He's cute, Case! Sue me." She stirred the pot. "It's harmless. It's a crush on someone who doesn't know I exist."

She turned her ring around her finger while she said it.

It was the thin gold band, the one she wore on her right hand every day. She did it without looking down.

I sat at her table and let her serve me.

The soup tasted like my grandmother's kitchen, because Lydia had been there when I learned the recipe.

That was the worst part.

"I need to say something," Lydia said, sitting across from me. "And please don't hate me."

"Okay."

"I think Dillon was trying to be funny last night. He's a flirt. He talks like that with everyone. But I would never do that to you. You're my person."

"I know," I said.

"You know?"

"Of course I know. You've been in every picture of my life since I was fifteen."

She went very still, then smiled with relief.

It was a perfect smile. I was almost fooled by it myself.

"You should do something to get out of that house," Lydia said. "It's full of him. Come to Denver with me."

I kept my spoon moving.

"Denver?"

"The meetup is Saturday. Dillon was only driving me to the airport because my car's in the shop."

She leaned forward.

"It's three nights, and I booked a room with two beds. We'll eat terrible hotel breakfasts. You'll see Rafe. You'll hate it. It'll be perfect."

Two things stopped me.

First, she had said Dillon was only driving her to the airport, and the booking said two seats.

Second, she had said it so fast that it sounded rehearsed, even to me.

"Wouldn't Dillon be there?" I said. "He's on the plane."

For half a second, Lydia's smile held without her.

"He's, um, no longer coming," she said. "Obviously. After last night."

"Obviously."

"So it's just us. Come with me. Please. I'll pay for your ticket."

I thought about the calendar, and the red circle, and the heart.

I thought about my grandmother's green door, and the notary stamp.

"Okay," I said.

Lydia blinked.

"Okay?"

"You're right. I need to get out of that house. Book me a seat."

"I'll do it tonight." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

Her fingers were cold.

I stood to leave. At the door she hugged me again, long and tight, and said, "You're so brave."

I said, "I learned it from you."

I went down the stairs at a normal speed.

Eli had the heater running.

"Well?" he said.

"She's lying," I said. "She booked two seats for Dillon and herself, and she'll tell me he isn't coming. I'm going to Denver."

"Are you?"

"I'm buying my own ticket. I don't want anything from her."

Eli rubbed his beard. Then he pulled out his phone and turned it toward me.

"I have a buddy who tends bar on Banksville Road," he said. "I texted him a picture of Dillon this afternoon."

A message sat on the screen.

He's in the back room most Fridays. Sports bets. He lost big last year. Owes some guy forty-eight grand. Guy doesn't send reminders. Due in eight weeks.

I read it twice.

"Eight weeks," I said.

"Half a house is a lot more than forty-eight grand," Eli said.

"Then he's been planning to take it all along," I said. "And she knew."

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