All Chapters of Chasing His Divorced Wife: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

ELARA'S POVThe week before Vermont I got sick, nothing serious. A head cold that arrived Monday and made me useless for three days. I worked from the couch with tissues and tea and the particular misery of someone who didn't have time to be unwell but was unwell regardless.Damien worked from home.He didn't announce this. He just moved his laptop to the dining table on Tuesday morning and stayed."You don't have to do that," I said from the couch."I know.""I'm fine.""You're not fine. You have a temperature and you've used an entire box of tissues since yesterday.""I'm functional.""You're not going to the gallery.""I wasn't planning to.""Good." He went back to his laptop.I watched him work from across the room. He was on a call with James mid-morning, something about the infrastructure division, his voice low and focused. He'd rolled his sleeves up and had coffee going cold beside him because he'd forgotten it again the way he always forgot it when he was concentrating.I'd s

ELARA'S POVDamien woke early and made breakfast properly, eggs and toast, the kind of effort that meant his hands needed something to do. I came out of the bedroom and found him at the stove and sat at the counter and watched him without saying good morning yet.He hadn't heard me.He moved through the kitchen with the ease of someone who'd learned to inhabit a space fully. Two years ago he'd moved through this apartment like he was visiting it. Now he knew where everything was without looking, had opinions about the pan for eggs versus the pan for everything else, made coffee at the strength I liked rather than the strength he preferred.These were small things.They were everything.He turned and saw me and didn't startle."You're quiet this morning," he said."Watching you cook.""Is that interesting?""Yes."He put the plate in front of me and made his own and sat beside me at the counter. We ate without talking much. Sunday morning came through the kitchen window, grey and soft.

ELARA'S POVI was awake at eleven when he came home.Not waiting anxiously. I'd had a full day, gallery in the morning, a long call with Claire about the Chicago exhibition, dinner with Maya who'd come by unannounced with wine and the specific energy of someone who wanted company without having to explain why.Maya had stayed until nine. We'd talked about James and the new apartment and a case she was finishing and the civil action and she'd asked about Vermont and I'd said I didn't know yet, he wasn't home yet, and she'd nodded and poured more wine.After she left I read and waited.The key in the door at eleven fifteen.He came in and set his bag down and stood in the hallway for a moment. He looked tired and altered in the same way he'd looked after the first Vermont visit. Something rearranged.I got up from the couch.He crossed the room and held me before I could say anything. Both arms around me, his face in my hair, the full weight of someone who needed to be held for a moment

ELARA'S POVWednesday the farmers market was small and cold and exactly right.We went at nine, before the city fully woke up, and the stalls were half the number of summer but staffed by people who seemed genuinely pleased to be there. The woman with the dahlias was gone for the season. The cheese stall was there, the bread stall, a man selling winter vegetables with the weathered patience of someone who understood that November commerce required different expectations than August.Damien bought coffee from a cart near the entrance and handed me one without asking, the right order, the way I liked it.We moved through the stalls slowly.At the bread stall the woman who'd been selling there for three years looked at Damien and said, "You're the one who bought the whole sourdough last month and came back for more.""Yes.""Smart." She put a loaf in a bag without him asking. "You want the rosemary one too?"He looked at me."Yes," I said.He paid and we walked on with bread under his ar

ELARA'S POVThe chicken was ready at one.I lifted the lid and the steam came up carrying everything that had been building for three hours, thyme and garlic and the particular depth that only came from time and low heat.Damien appeared in the kitchen doorway with the reliable instinct he had for meals being ready."That smell," he said."I know.""It smells like your description. Like something being solved.""That's what it is."He set the table without being asked, the good plates, the ones we used when something warranted them. I noticed and didn't comment because commenting would make it self-conscious and it wasn't self-conscious. It was just what he did now.We sat.He took the first bite and was quiet for a moment."Tell me what you taste," I said.He looked at me. "Why?""Because my mother taught me that tasting properly meant finding words for it."He considered. "The thyme is underneath everything else. You don't taste it first but if it wasn't there the whole thing would