The Pub

The kids are in bed, the house is finally quiet except for the faint whir of the dishwasher. You’re sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, phone facedown in front of you.

Tom walks in, drying his hands on a tea towel. “Alright?”

You nod, taking a breath. “I need to tell you something before I lose my nerve.”

He leans on the counter, watching you. “Go on.”

You flip your phone over, open the chat. “I’ve agreed to meet him.”

His brows lift slightly. “Where?”

“Wethersp*ons in Taunton,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “Public, safe. We can both see how it feels in person.”

He nods slowly, eyes flicking to your phone and back. “Alright. And then?”

“I’m going to book a hotel room,” you say.

His expression shifts, a bit shocked, but more focused now.

“Not to stay the night,” you add quickly. “I’ll be back here to sleep. I just… want somewhere private if I need it. Somewhere I can go for a bit without worrying about anyone walking in or watching.”

He studies you for a moment, then exhales. “And you promise you’ll come back?”

You hold his gaze. “I promise. This is still our thing. I’m not running off to start something else. You’re still the one I come home to.”

He pushes away from the counter, walking over to rest his hands lightly on the back of your chair. “Alright. But I’m holding you to that.”

You nod. “I know.”

Neither of you says anything for a few seconds. The sound of the dishwasher fills the space between you, and you can feel the mix in him.