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“Just get off of me, Dom,” Jo mumbles. But she doesn’t fight him off. He’s not sure if that’s because she likes his gesture, or because she’s too weak to do so.
“Can I have a cup?” he asks.
She sniffs. “Fine.”
He releases her so she can go to the cupboard and take down another mug. When she sets it down, she says, “It’s the tea from that woman at the rally.”
He frowns. “We don’t have any other tea?”
“We do, but I wanted to try it. We are looking for new flavors for the shop. Plus, the name Purple Sky has a ring to it.”
Dominic continues a frown, and she sighs.
“Do you want some or not, Dom? No one’s forcing you to drink it.”
“Fine, yeah,” he mumbles.
Jo dumps a tea bag into his mug, pours hot water from the electric kettle, and they both wait while the teabags steep, transitioning the water from clear to liquid amber. She folds her arms and rests her lower back against the counter edge, avoiding his eyes.
“I was just thinking about our time in college,” Dominic says with a chuckle.
“Why?” she asks, not a hint of a smile on her face.
“I don’t know. I was thinking about when we met. How head over heels you were for me.”
She scoffs, pushing off the counter and picking up the string of her tea bag, dunking it a few times. “You mean how you harassed me into dating you?”
“I didn’t harass you. I was just very interested.” He chuckles.
She smiles. Just barely. He thinks he has her. He’s winning her over again. It’s what he’s good at, winning people over. Even his wife.
“I miss how we were,” he tells her. “I miss holding hands.” He reaches for her hand over the counter, and surprisingly she lets him take it. “I know being governor calls for more time away from you, but I’m thinking once the campaign ends and I get this win, we can book a vacation. Get away together. Just you and me. No distractions.”
“Your schedule is too crazy for a vacation,” she sighs, and she looks away, automatically defeated. “I know it’s my fault that we don’t get to spend as much time together. I pushed you to run for governor.”
“We both agreed it was a good idea,” he adds in. “Your father’s partner knew people. He hooked us up for the campaign and we chased that opportunity.”
She nods, swallows, then turns away, going to the pantry to take out the organic honey. She plucks Dominic’s teabag out of his mug, squeezes it with her fingertips, then pours honey into it. She slides the mug his way before drizzling honey into her own, but only a teaspoon or so.
He picks up the tea and gives it a sip. It’s surprisingly good. He takes another hot, hefty sip that slightly scalds his tongue.
“You know, Dom . . .” Jolene’s voice trails, and she clamps her mouth shut.
“Go on,” he murmurs, holding her dark-brown gaze.
Her irises gleam beneath the chandelier as she locks on him. “When I married you, I only asked for one thing.” She stares down at her tea. “I asked you to be honest with me at all times.”
Dominic freezes. He has no idea what to say to that, so he waits for her to continue.
“What are you hiding from me?” Her voice is so low he almost couldn’t hear the question.
He stares at his wife, and for a split second he thinks about telling her everything. It was that summer in New Orleans nearly four and a half years ago that changed his life—almost ruined it.
Galveston Lounge.
The Ritz Carlton.
The rug.
