His ex had dark hair and dark eyes. She looked Greek or Italian. It came as no shock that she was absolutely gorgeous. Her Mediterranean features were the total opposite of my Scandinavian looks.

“Wow. I’m not sure you ever told me her name.”

“Olivia.”

Olivia.

Though I knew they weren’t together anymore, I still envied her. She’d gotten to make love to him and experience everything with him, even if it wasn’t forever.

“She’s really pretty, but I didn’t expect anything less.” I handed him back the phone.

“She’s a good person, too.”

He looked a little down.

“Do you feel like you failed her?” I asked.

“For a while I did feel like my marriage was my biggest failure. But she’s happy now, so that’s all that matters. The idea of failure is subjective. Our marriage failed, but she ended up with something better in the end. So it was hardly a failure for her.”

It made me sad that he felt that way. “Why do you sell yourself short?”

“I told you before…I wasn’t a good husband.”

“Yeah, but you’ve learned from your mistakes. Maybe she’s missing out on the person you are now, and that might have been better than what she has with the other guy. You’re older and wiser.”

“Definitely older. I don’t know about wiser.” He chuckled. After some silence, he asked, “So, what about you…? What do you consider your biggest failure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve yet to have it, but I bet it’ll be a doozy.”

“I can’t wait to find out what it is, for you to get it over with. I expect a phone call when it happens.”

The thought of calling him sometime in the future kind of bummed me out, knowing he would be far away. I wondered if we would even keep in touch.

“I can definitely do that. By then, you’ll be like…‘Wait, Heather who?’”

He pretended to be holding a phone to his ear and talking to me in the future. “Oh…that crazy blond chick from New Hampshire? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember you. How the hell are ya?”

I held my hand up to my ear. “Yup, that’s me! The loony one who dances in the lake and pretends to be getting ready to jump off the roof while listening to Hanson. That one.”

“Yeah. The one who made me smile.” He looked over at me. “That one.”***An hour or so later, Teddy was finally ready to go. I went down to the basement to do laundry when I got home and noticed a full load of Noah’s clothes still in the dryer. He must have put them in this afternoon and forgotten to come get them.

It wasn’t often that I had the opportunity to do something for him, so I was happy to be able to fold his wash. I fluffed the load for a few minutes before taking it out.

Smelling each warm article of clothing, I closely examined them all. His shirts were size large. His boxer briefs were a mixture of Calvin Klein and Armani Exchange. I’d always found folding laundry to be relaxing, but folding the clothes of the man I was obsessed with was particularly enjoyable.

I was so turned on tonight. My body was in a constant state of alert whenever I was around Noah, and the feeling typically lasted long after I’d left him. Handling his clothing like this only made it worse.

After everything was neatly placed in the basket, I started to walk out of the laundry area. Then I stopped and turned back around.

Feeling impulsive, I reached under my skirt and pulled my black lace panties down my legs. Holding them in my hands, I paused, wondering if this was a good idea. Who was I kidding? I knew it was a very bad idea. After all, I’d vowed not to make any more advances toward him. This would be crossing the line.

But I wanted to mess with him, wanted to push boundaries and have some fun again. I’d been really good. Technically, this wouldn’t be anything like a proposition. I could pretend I’d been folding my clothes and accidentally mixed up the piles—if he ever called me out on it, that is.

I folded the panties and tucked them in the middle of his laundry, running out before I could change my mind.CHAPTER EIGHT* * *NOAHI’d started doing some landscaping work around the property, and Heather would often come outside during the day to help pull weeds or throw down mulch. We’d joke around and bust each other’s balls while working together. These were my favorite days.

One such afternoon, Heather was particularly chatty while we worked.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I got my name?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I was named after an actress.”

“Locklear?”

“No. You know the horror movie Poltergeist?”

“Yeah.”

“The little girl who played Carol Ann—her name in real life was Heather O’Rourke. She died at the age of twelve. Anyway, my mom loved that film, so she named me after her.”