Chapter 54 Dinner
Timothy
I decided to go home the following night because exhaustion had finally caught up with me in a way even stubbornness couldn’t ignore.
The day had been long filled with endless meetings, numbers blurring together, conversations I responded to on instinct rather than attention. By the time I pulled into the driveway, my shoulders ached and my head felt stuffed with cotton. All I wanted was quiet.
But not the hollow kind.
The house was dim when I stepped inside, lights low, the air carrying that faint lemon-polish scent Lisa favored. Hannah wasn’t home yet. I checked my watch without meaning to, then frowned at myself for it.
I loosened my tie and sat on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling without really seeing anything. Minutes stretched. I told myself I was just resting, but the truth crept in anyway: I was waiting.
The sound came before she did.
Yip.
Yip-yip.
Momo.
I looked up just as the door opened and Hannah stepped inside, leash in one hand, bag slung over her shoulder. Momo bounded ahead of her like a living alarm system.
She froze when she saw me.
It was brief, just a flicker but I caught it. Surprise. Then something shuttered behind her eyes as she looked away.
“Hey,” I said, standing.
She adjusted her grip on the leash. “Hi.”
The word was polite. Nothing more.
She moved to walk past me, toward the stairs.
“Hannah.” I reached out, stopping short of touching her. “How are you doing?”
Her spine went rigid. “I’m fine.”
Not angry. Not soft. Flat.
“I was thinking,” I said carefully, “we could have dinner together tonight.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, fast and unguarded and for a second, I thought she might say yes.
Then her jaw set.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m tired.”
And she was gone, footsteps retreating up the stairs before I could say another word.
I stood there, hand half-raised like an idiot.
Momo glanced back at me once, tail wagging, before trotting after her.
I exhaled slowly, scrubbed a hand over my face, and turned toward the kitchen.
Lisa was there, watching me with that knowing calm she’d perfected over the years.
“Bring my dinner upstairs,” I said.
She nodded, lips twitching. “Of course, sir.”
I headed to my room, shutting the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment longer than necessary.
How had this happened?
How had I gone from deliberately keeping my distance, from making her life deliberately uncomfortable to standing in my own house wondering how to apologize?
Dinner arrived quietly. I ate without tasting much, my thoughts circling the same point over and over.
I’d hurt her.
And worse, I cared that I had.
The realization unsettled me more than any argument ever could.
\---
The next morning, I stayed later than usual.
On purpose.
I timed it carefully, lingering in the living room with my coffee long after I’d normally have left, knowing Hannah would try to avoid me if she could. I could almost see it happening, her calculating exits, choosing the path of least interaction.
Sure enough, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
She appeared at the landing, hair pulled back, bag already on her shoulder. When she spotted me, her eyes widened slightly.
Then she turned.
Too late.
“Hannah,” I called.
She stopped so abruptly she nearly spun on her heel.
“What?” she snapped.
The word cracked like a whip, sharp enough to draw blood.
I straightened. “We’re having dinner tonight.”
Her mouth fell open. Then her face darkened.
“You don’t get to order me around,” she shot back. “You’re not my boss.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not what…”
“You think you can ignore me, act cold, then suddenly decide you want to play husband again?” Her words spilled out, fast and furious. “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not playing your games, Timothy. If you’re going to be an asshole, at least be consistent about it.”
Lisa coughed discreetly from the doorway.
“Hannah,” I said firmly. “Stop.”
She glared at me.
“I know I acted wrong,” I said, forcing myself not to retreat. “I know I handled things badly. Just…give me a chance to make it right. Dinner. That’s all I’m asking.”
Silence stretched between us.
Her chest rose and fell. I could practically hear her weighing it, every slight, every cold look, every moment she’d swallowed something she shouldn’t have had to.
Finally, she huffed.
“Fine.”
The word came out clipped, resentful.
Then she stormed past me, yanking the door open and disappearing outside.
I watched her go, heart pounding harder than it had during any boardroom negotiation.
Lisa met my gaze, one eyebrow raised.
“Good luck, sir,” she said mildly.
I snorted despite myself. “I’m going to need it.”
I grabbed my briefcase and headed out, the echo of Hannah’s voice following me down the steps.
Fine.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it wasn’t nothing.
And for the first time in days, I allowed myself the smallest spark of hope.