Chapter 44 Meeting Jacob and Samantha
Hannah
I didn’t know how to feel anymore.
That was the simplest, truest version of it.
Something had changed between Timothy and me, quietly, subtly, like a tide pulling back before I noticed the shoreline was different. He’d stopped being sharp for the sake of it. Stopped ignoring me like I was a piece of inconvenient furniture. We ate together now. Every morning. Every evening. If he couldn’t make it, Lisa told me ahead of time, as if that alone was some small courtesy I should note.
I did note it.
I just didn’t trust it.
A part of me stayed permanently braced, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his voice to go cold again, for the niceness to be revealed as temporary, conditional, fragile. I overthought every glance, every question, every neutral tone. I told myself not to lean into it. Not to relax. Because if I did, and he snapped back into cruelty without warning, it would hurt worse.
So I hovered somewhere in between: polite, careful, watchful.
The weekend arrived faster than I expected.
The dinner with the investor turned out not to be a dinner at all, but golf at an elite complex so pristine it looked like it had never known bad weather or raised voices. Timothy told me that morning, almost casually, while we ate breakfast.
“Dress comfortable,” he’d said. “But presentable.”
That sentence alone had once been enough to make my stomach knot. Now it only made me pause.
I chose light trousers, a soft fitted blouse, low flats. Casual, but intentional. I checked myself in the mirror longer than usual, then scolded myself for caring.
Timothy was already waiting out front when I came downstairs, hands in his pockets, posture easy in a way I still wasn’t used to seeing. He looked… good. Effortlessly so. I hated that my brain supplied the thought uninvited.
We got into the car together.
The silence wasn’t hostile. Just… full.
I wrung my hands in my lap without realizing it until he glanced over.
“Nervous?” he asked.
I shrugged. “A little. I never know what I’m supposed to say at these things.”
“You don’t have to say much,” he replied. “If there’s anything you’re unsure about, I’ll handle it.”
I looked at him then, surprised, not by the words, but by the tone. Reassuring. Steady.
“Okay,” I said softly.
The drive passed quicker than I expected.
The complex was enormous. Rolling greens stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by white sand traps and glinting water features. We were ushered through seamlessly, guided to a private field where a man stood mid-swing, the crack of the club sharp in the air.
A woman sat nearby at an outdoor table, legs crossed, wine glass catching the sunlight.
They noticed us at the same time.
“Timothy!” the man called, straightening with a broad grin.
Timothy smiled back, genuine this time, and they clapped hands in greeting like old friends. “Jacob.”
He gestured me forward. “This is my wife, Hannah.”
The woman stood immediately. “Oh, come here sweetie.”
Before I could process it, she pulled me into a hug. Not stiff. Not polite. Real.
I stiffened for exactly half a second before she released me, smiling brightly. “I’m Samantha. So good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said, still slightly stunned.
Jacob and Timothy were already talking shop, drifting toward the green. Samantha looped her arm through mine with conspiratorial ease.
“Come sit with me,” she said. “I’ve had enough of watching them posture.”
She led me to the table, poured more wine, and launched into conversation like we’d known each other for years.
At first, I stayed guarded. Old habits. But Samantha was warm in a way that disarmed defenses quickly. She talked about her twins,
six months old, apparently and how this was her first night away from them in a while.
“I adore them,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly, “but I also adore sleeping uninterrupted.”
I laughed, genuinely.
We watched the men tee off, their voices carrying faintly across the green. My eyes, traitorous things they were, kept drifting to Timothy. The way his shoulders moved when he swung. The concentration on his face as he tracked the ball’s flight.
I realized too late that Samantha had noticed.
“Well,” she teased lightly, sipping her wine, “that look tells me something.”
Heat rushed to my face. “What look?”
She laughed. “Relax. It’s not a crime to find your husband attractive.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, then closed it again. Because lying felt pointless.
“I…just noticing,” I said weakly.
“Mhm.”
She glanced toward the field. “You know, we could join them.”
I stiffened again. “Oh, no. I’ll just sit…”
“Nonsense,” she said cheerfully, already standing. “Jacob will love it.”
She called out before I could protest. “Gentlemen! We’re thinking of joining you for a few rounds.”
Jacob waved enthusiastically. “Come on then!”
I stayed seated, panic fluttering in my chest.
Timothy turned, eyes locking on mine. He smirked.
“What,” he called, “are you scared?”
Something sparked.
I narrowed my eyes at him, that old competitiveness flaring unexpectedly. “Of what? Failing? Hardly.”
“Then come on,” he said, amusement dancing in his gaze.
I laughed despite myself, pushed back my chair, and stood. “Fine. Don’t cry when I embarrass you.” Timothy snorted loudly.
Samantha beamed like she’d orchestrated something delightful.
As we walked onto the field, I became acutely aware of the sun on my skin, the grass beneath my shoes, the strange, electric awareness humming between Timothy and me as he held my eyes as I descended the short steps.
My skin and the distance between us crackled with electricity that felt deliciously dangerous.
And that terrified me just as much as it thrilled me.