Six Months Open, His Old Friend Chose Me

"Cancel it," David demanded. He kicked the dropped silver tie clip across the hardwood floor. "You are not meeting him."

"Section three, bullet point four," I replied. I grabbed my leather purse from the bed. "No interfering with personal choices. Was that not the exact phrasing you paid a lawyer to draft?"

"Eli Grant is not a personal choice. He is a predator looking for revenge."

"Are we voiding the trial agreement tonight?" I asked. "Because if we are, you can start by explaining exactly who Vanessa is."

David closed the distance between us. His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing under his skin. "Vanessa is irrelevant to this. Eli knows you are lonely, Nora. He will use you. He wants to drag my name through the mud, and you are handing him the shovel."

"You booked a hotel suite weeks ago to explore your own freedom," I pointed out. "Do not label your premeditated affairs as exploration and my single text message as betrayal. You wanted an open door. I am just walking through it."

"Mom?"

Sophie stood in the doorway. She clutched a velvet throw pillow to her chest, her knuckles pale. "Please do not go. Dad hates him."

I stopped at the door. I looked at my daughter's terrified expression. David had already poisoned the well, using our child as a human shield to protect his own ego.

"I will be completely safe tonight, Sophie," I told her. I kept my tone steady, refusing to match David's frantic energy. "But I will not let your father's grudges dictate who I am allowed to speak to. Go finish your homework."

The bookstore bar smelled of old paper and gin. A jazz trio played in the corner, the upright bass thumping a steady rhythm. I bypassed the secluded booths in the back. I chose a small round table exactly two feet from the front exit. I wanted a clear path out.

Eli slid into the chair opposite mine. He did not order a drink. Instead, he reached into his pocket and placed a torn piece of paper next to my water glass. The blue ink read 8:00 PM.

"An hour," Eli said. "You can leave earlier, but you do not have to stay a minute past that."

I picked up the paper. The gesture caught me off guard.

"David took my original pitch," Eli stated. He skipped the small talk entirely, his voice cutting through the jazz music. "He locked me out, changed the passwords to the server, and slapped his name on the final cut. He built his entire company on my foundation."

"Do you expect me to just take your word for it?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I expect you to watch the reel I offered you and decide for yourself. I do not need you to validate my past."

I traced the rim of my glass. I watched his hands resting on the table. They were steady.

"Do you hate him, Eli?"

His gaze fixed on my face. He did not blink. "I used to hate him enough to want him to lose what he valued most."

The bass line from the band seemed to fade into the background. I sat up straighter, my fingers gripping the condensation on my glass.

"Am I just one of David's things to you?" I asked. "Are you sitting here to collect a debt?"

Eli leaned back. He put physical distance between us, his posture shifting from intense to open. "You are not a prize, Nora. And you are not a tool for me to settle a ten-year-old score. You are a brilliant editor who got buried alive. If you think I am here just to spite your husband, use the exit right now."

I looked at the piece of paper. I pulled a pen from my purse, crossed out the eight, and wrote 8:30.

"Ninety minutes," I said.

The alley behind the bookstore offered a quiet escape from the crowded bar. The cool night air hit my face as we stood against the exposed brick wall. The faint hum of street traffic echoed down the block.

Eli stopped a foot away from me. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

I stared at his mouth. My pulse hammered against my ribs. "I do not know."

He stepped back immediately. He stepped back without complaint or pressure.

I reached out and grabbed the lapel of his jacket. The rough fabric grounded my shaking hands. "Nobody has asked me what I wanted in twelve years. They just take."

Eli did not move closer. He let me hold onto him. "Do you want me, Nora? Or do you want to prove David wrong?"

"I want you," I answered.

"Are you still sure?" he asked. His voice dropped, losing its professional edge.

"I want to kiss you," I said clearly. "And only this for tonight."

Eli closed the distance. His mouth pressed against mine, careful at first, testing the boundary I had just drawn. The restraint shattered the moment I kissed him back.

I shoved him backward. His shoulders hit the brick wall with a dull thud. I stepped into his space, tangling my fingers in his hair. His hands found my waist, sliding down to rest heavily on my lower back. The heat of his palms burned through my wool blazer. He pulled me flush against his chest.

"Stop," I said.

Eli dropped his hands instantly. He pulled his head back, leaving a fraction of an inch between our faces. He waited for my next instruction.

I rested my forehead against his chin. A shaky laugh escaped my throat. I did not apologize for the desire, and I did not apologize for stopping it. I just breathed in the cold air, feeling entirely alive.

Eli raised his hand. He used his thumb to wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of my mouth. His touch lingered for a second before he pulled away.

"Should I call you a car?" he asked.

"I will order my own," I said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with the crossed-out time. I slipped it into my purse. I controlled the beginning, and I controlled the end.

I climbed into the back of a sedan five minutes later. The streetlights flashed through the windows as the driver pulled away from the curb. I pulled out my phone.

The screen displayed eleven missed calls from David. A text message sat below the red alerts.

Sophie is sick. Come home now.

My stomach tightened. I bypassed David's number and dialed Sophie directly. If she was truly ill, I would redirect the driver to the hospital.

She answered on the second ring. Movie dialogue blared in the background, accompanied by the crunch of popcorn.

"Mom?" she asked.

"Are you all right?" I asked. The movie kept playing while Sophie hesitated to answer.