Chapter 5: Cellar confessions
The wine cellar was Alice's refuge and her torture chamber. It was cool, quiet, and smelled of damp earth and oak. It was also where Heath stored his private stash, the bottles he cared about most. His other secret things, she thought, bitterness coating the back of her throat.
She'd been avoiding him for three days. Three days of monosyllabic replies of taking the longest route around the bar, of keeping her eyes fixed on her notepad. The bruise on her neck had faded to a faint shadow, but the memory of his wife's kiss on his lips was a fresh, searing brand.
Frank, of course, noticed. "The silent treatment, huh?" he'd whispered while refilling the sugar caddies. "Classic move. Makes 'em sweat. Heath's been pacing like a caged tiger."
Alice hadn't answered. She just pouted, a permanent, quiet frown that felt etched onto her face. Her throat was perpetually tight, a knot of unshed tears and unspoken accusations. She was always on edge, listening for his voice, tracking his movements, yet flinching whenever he came near.
Tonight's closing ritual was silent. Heath didn't ask if she was ready. He just finished his checks, turned off the main lights, and stood waiting by the back door. The tension was a physical thing, a wire stretched taut between them.
She followed him out to his car, the autumn air biting through her thin jacket. He drove, the silence in the vehicle heavier than any conversation.
"You're punishing me," he said finally, his voice low. He didn't look at her.
"I'm not doing anything," Alice replied, her words clipped. She stared at the passing streetlights.
"You're everything. You're a wall. I can feel it."
She swallowed, the knot in her throat tightening. "You kissed her."
He didn't flinch. "It was a goodbye kiss. In public. It's what married people do."
"In our place." The words spilled out, hot and sharp. "In the bistro. Where you... where we..."
"Where I what?" he asked, his tone softening. "Where I mark your neck? Where I tell you you're not a distraction? That place belongs to her too, Alice. Legally. Morally. In every way that isn't the way we want it to be."
The truth was a cold slap. She pressed her lips together, refusing to let the tears win.
He pulled the car over not at her apartment, but in a quiet side street a few blocks away. He turned off the engine. The sudden stillness was absolute.
"I need to show you something," he said. "Come back to the bistro with me."
Her heart leapt, a treacherous, hopeful thing. "Why?"
"Because I can't talk to you here. I can't... be with you here. There's a space that's just ours. It's not the kitchen. It's not the car. It's downstairs."
