What He Missed at Home

Chapter 1: Date Night

Paige knew the house was empty before she opened the front door.

It had a different silence when the kids were gone.

Not peaceful exactly-peaceful was a word people used when they had forgotten what it felt like to step barefoot on a plastic dinosaur in the dark. This was something rarer. A held breath. A clean, suspended pause.

She nudged the door open with her hip, couture gym bag sliding down her shoulder, and stood in the entryway listening.
The silent, empty house sneered at her, as if daring her to mock it for the absence of her children. But no, it was just her.

There were no cartoon voices blaring from the living room television. No sudden, dramatic sobs because someone had been given the blue cup instead of the green one or taken a toy that did not belong to them.

Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the twitter of nature coming in through an open bay window she'd left open earlier that morning.

Paige closed the door behind her and smiled and toed out of her sneakers. Shoes were like foot coffins to her, and she reveled in being unshod as often as possible. She wiggled her feet, spreading her toes and felt a pleasant tingle spread through her as she gripped and ungripped the hallway floor.

She looked around, the place was tidied up, too. But of course, she'd been the one to orchestrate that this morning before she left for work. After all, a tidy house was a loved house. There was no trail of socks, shoes in funny places, scattered crayons or snack wrappers stuffed between couch cushions.

As she walked down the hall, smiling, she noted there were no mysterious sticky patches on the walls leading from room to room like evidence at a crime scene.

"God, silence," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might summon them both back.

Paige loved her children with a fierceness that sometimes frightened her. Loved their warm cheeks, their wild morning hair, their impossible questions, their little hands slipping into hers without warning. But love did not cancel exhaustion. Love did not erase the fact that, sometimes, she wanted an hour-hell, even thirty minutes-where nobody needed her body, her voice, her patience, or the last bite of whatever she was eating.

She dropped her bag by the stairs and lifted one arm, turning her head toward her shoulder and took a careful sniff.

Still fresh.

The light floral scent of her expensive deodorant clung to her skin beneath the clean bite of sweat from teaching four yoga classes back-to-back. Paige worked several part time jobs as a mother of two, but yoga was her absolute jam and not just because she was good at it. Sure, she had all the advanced certifications, but it was her reputation for being calm, encouraging, and quietly relentless during her sessions. Her students loved her. They filled waitlists to get into her classes, and the studio owner was always gently encouraging her to take on just a few more hours because of it. Paige rarely said no to extra money.

Her students called her inspiring, centered and strong. The owner called her 'sassy classy', a moniker she'd earned for her deadpan sense of humor blended with her ability to run packed classes with complete ease.

She smiled and ran a hand under the collar of her sweater, plucking at the sports bra that clung to her glistening skin. Most days, she felt like a woman held together by dry shampoo, leftovers, too much caffeine, definitely not enough water, and sheer force of will.

Tonight, though, was different.

Tonight had been circled on the calendar for four months.

Four.

Date night with her husband.

A real one this time.

Not 'spontaneous' takeout eaten over the sink. Not half a movie watched while folding laundry with rowdy kids running in and out of the room. Not collapsing beside Clark, her husband, at eleven-thirty, both of them too tired to do anything except exchange a tragic little goodnight kiss before sleep dragged them under.

Tonight, there would be a dinner reservation at a place that wasn't a fast food chain. Low lights. Soft music. Some wine (okay, a lot!). Adult conversation. Maybe a movie afterward. Okay, maybe no movie.

Before leaving the house earlier in the day, Paige had changed their bed sheets. Put down the fancy ones, high thread count that were soft, yet stretchy.

Her stomach warmed at the thought as she envisioned herself comfortably on her back, legs in the air with all of Clark between them. There would be no need to be quiet, nor quick. No need to bite into a pillow, or else speed through sex without even the faintest hint of an orgasm.

No, they would have all night. And, Paige thought as a second frisson of warmth passed through her, maybe she could get Clark to give her lower half that special attention with his mouth he used to give her when they had all the time in the world. The time before they decided to have kids.

She closed her eyes and squeaked, embracing the full body shiver that passed through her, her nipples pressed automatically against her sports bra and heat spread across her chest.

'Focus, girl.' Her mind told her at the same time as her stomach let out a low grumble.

She placed a hand to it, feeling the hollowness. She'd gone through each session today without so much as a bite of an apple or crunch of a celery stick. A few sips of electrolyte water had been her only sustenance and when she'd finished class for the day and gotten into the car, she was repulsed by the snack bar she'd packed-and forgotten to take out of the car-it was beyond melted and sat forlorn and limply in the cupholder near the gearshift.

Paige moved into the kitchen, retied her hair into a high pony, and began making a smoothie decadent enough to rival her appetite, dinner reservations be damned. Her hands moved automatically around the space while energetic music filled the air from her iPhone. She hummed as she assembled her ingredients: banana, frozen berries, spinach, almond milk, protein powder. The blender roared to life, aggressively violating the sacred silence.

As it ran, she sucked at her lower lip in hunger while her hips waggled to the beat of the song. Just then, the volume on the song lowered.

Her phone was ringing.

Paige switched off the blender, verifying the mixture was to her liking and reached over to grab her phone, smiling at the name on the screen.

"Hey-please tell me my children haven't broken anything yet," she said.

Her friend Marissa snorted on the other end. "Not yet. Though your son did ask whether my house has 'different laws.'"

There was a squawk of a child's delight, followed by the tell-tale bray of her son's laughter. Marissa chuckled.

"That sounds ominous."

"He wanted to know if jumping from the couch to the ottoman was legal here."

Paige popped the lid off her blender and poured the contents into a large plastic mug and inserted a straw. "And what did you tell him?"

"That this is a democracy, but I am the Supreme Court."

Paige laughed, leaning back against the counter, stirring the contents and took a measured sip. It was delicious.

"Riss, I owe you so much."

"You do. I'm thinking cash, wine, or one of those private yoga sessions where you make my hamstrings feel like they're being punished from crime against posture I've committed."

"Done. All of the above. And you're stiff as shit, especially those hamstrings."

Marissa sighed in acknowledgement and Paige took the opportunity to take a deep pull on her smoothie. The cold, soft liquid filled her mouth and she swallowed it, feeling it fill her empty stomach, which gurgled its appreciation.

While she sipped, she took in the background noise coming through the phone. Paige heard shrieking laughter once again. There was a muffled sound, followed by Marissa saying away from the phone, "No, we do not put crackers in the aquarium... because the fish did not ask for charcuterie-how do you even know what that word is anyway, because I know Bluey doesn't have that sort of vocab."

The phone unmuffled, then Marissa's voice came back. "Sorry, minor aquatic mishap."

Paige closed her eyes, grinning. "They're okay?"

"They're great. Tonight, they'll be fed and entertained. My kids will tire yours out and hopefully I'll get lucky and they'll all pass out and I can get caught up on my show-there's only one episode left, so no spoilers!"

She'd said the final few words quickly and Paige smiled.

"I may or may not know who killed Derek, but I won't not say it's someone you don't already know."

Marissa let out a frustrated growl. "The maid. The fucking maid. I knew it! Tell me I'm right. Paige-don't make me drop off your kids."

She chuckled. "My true crime lips are sealed."

"Fuck you."

"You too, babe."

Marissa laughed. "Well, you enjoy your night."

"I am planning to."

"So, what's the big romantic agenda?" Marissa said, suddenly sing-song. The two women told one another literally everything and Paige wasn't surprised to hear her pry.

"Clark's got us dinner reservations at seven-thirty at that cute little bistro I've been itching to try."

"Le Fuck!?"

Paige snorted. "It's pronounced "LE FOO, but yes. And then, depending on what's playing, maybe a movie after."

There was a pause.

Then Marissa said, flatly, "A movie."

Paige frowned. "What?"

"You got child-free overnight coverage after months-months of scheduling warfare, and your plan is to sit in a dark room beside your husband while neither of you talks?"

"It's a nice theater."

"Paige."

"What?"

"Child-free overnight isn't cluing you in?"

"What, should we get drinks before the movie?"

Marissa let out a frustrated sigh, like she was having trouble explaining that one and one made two. "You know what you should do."

Paige's cheeks warmed before Marissa even said it.

"Don't make me say it, Paige. Elliot. Turner."

Paige's lips quirked around the straw as Marissa emphasized each of her names.

"Yes, mom?"

But Marissa was not about to be side railed. "You should take that tall, gorgeous husband of yours out for dinner, wear that dress we talked about-the one you own that was not designed for school pickup, bring him home, and. Absolutely. Ruin. Him." She bit off the final few words like bits of celery.

Paige burst out laughing. "Marissa."

"I'm not done." And Paige could envision Marissa waggling her head for emphasis.

"I can tell."

"You need candles. Those gourmet ones you bought for yourself last Christmas that I know you haven't burned yet. Music-I've got a playlist that drives Bob up a tree-I'll text you." She paused, then, "-and that perfume he likes. The one that makes him look at you like he forgot how doors work."

Tom Ford's Tabacco Vanille.
Over $150 a bottle.

Paige bit her lip, staring down at the remaining smoothie in her glass. Heat unfurled low in her belly, slow and inconvenient. She pinched her thighs and inhaled, her mind conjuring the scent instantly.

The last time she'd dabbed that on herself had been just after Christmas. Or was it that party in February? Either way, she'd barely been able to keep Clark's hands off her.

Paige closed her eyes. Her mind went back. Their friend's house. To that full hallway and to Clark, who'd grabbed her ass every chance he got when they'd passed one another by.

A sigh escaped her lips as she pressed her spandex-clad ass into the kitchen countertop and heat continued to percolate low inside her.

"I-It's been busy," Paige said, her voice softer, nearly forgetting she was on the phone.

"Girlfriend." Marissa said.

"Seriously." Paige interjected, but the heat continued to smolder.

"I know, I know. Work. Kids. Life. The endless parade of stomach bugs, permission slips, sports games and yoga classes. But you two are still you two."

Paige pictured Clark that morning, barefoot in the kitchen, dress shirt half-buttoned, making lunches for the kids with absurd concentration (even though they were straight up peanut butter and jelly). She pictured his big hands smoothing their daughter's hair and him help put their son's shoes on the correct feet (a battle he was-finally-winning). She next pictured his tired smile over the rim of his coffee mug, an endless chain that, if his cardiologist would allow him, he'd switch over to an IV drip.

God, how Clark loved his java.

Paige hummed to herself, picturing the way Clark held his mug, imaging those same hands on her right now. Skimming her waist, fingertips tracing their way up her ribcage, then feathering their way to her breasts and-

"Mission Control to Paige. Come in Command. Kssht! We've lost contact."

"Hmm?"

A laugh. "Girl, what's going on over there-have you started drinking early? I called your name like three times." Marissa said with a bemused chuckle.

"Sorry, spaced out. No pun intended." But the warmth of Clark's hands ghosting her body lingered, sending heat to her thighs.

"Har, har, har. Seriously though, you're running out of daylight lady-what's the play?"

"Well, I'm sweaty from class," Paige said, clearing her throat. "So, step one is becoming a human woman again."

"Good. Shower. Shave. Moisturize. Whatever rituals the temple requires."

Paige lifted her smoothie. "For your information, I have been hairless from the neck down since I was fifteen."

Marissa went silent.

Then both women dissolved into fits of giggles.

"Of course you have," Marissa wheezed.

"I believe in commitment."

"To Clark?"

"To exfoliation."

By the time they hung up, Paige's face hurt from smiling.

She finished her remaining smoothie, rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher, while her thoughts wandered ahead of her. Dinner. Clark's hand at the small of her back. His thumb tracing circles there when they waited at the host stand. The way he would look at her across the table all dolled up in her black dress.

The one with the plunging neckline he pretended not to notice.

The one he absolutely noticed when Paige pretended to be looking elsewhere and the same one that would get the other men's temperatures up.

She took her time going upstairs.

Their bedroom was dim and quiet, afternoon light pressing through the curtains in soft gold bars. Paige stripped off her leggings, sweatshirt and tank top, tossing them into the hamper, and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.

She paused, then slid out of her socks and shimmied out of her expensive underwear.

There she was.

Thirty-five. Brunette hair coming loose from its knot. Shoulders strong from years of plank holds and lifting children who insisted they were too tired to walk until someone offered them dessert. Her breasts were fuller than they had been before pregnancy and judging by the red imprint around her rib cage, her sports bras might be a half-size too small. Her eyes travelled southward to her stomach. Belly softer, with a slight roundness she noticed more than anyone else ever seemed to. She wasn't fat, God no-but had lost the trim waist she'd held onto for so long in college. Next, her eyes drifted to her hips. They were well-muscled yet curved. Thighs solid.

It all added up to a body well-lived in. Used. Loved. Toned. Changed.

People told her she was attractive. Her yoga students complimented her strength. And while she waited for after school pick up with the other moms, she was by far, the fittest by a country mile, even the younger twenty-something-ish moms. Clark still looked at her sometimes like he was trying not to reach for her in public. He'd been doing that a lot less lately, but tonight she'd change all that.

She shimmied her legs, pressing them together and ran a hand across her lower abdomen just above her sex. Paige scowled at the little extra fluff at her waist. The faint marks motherhood had left behind. The places where gravity had begun making quiet suggestions, despite her religious fitness regimen. For a lark, she quarter-turned and spied her well-muscled ass that gravity hadn't quite yet claimed, though something else had.

"Two kids," she murmured to her reflection, turning slightly. "That's the receipt."

Then she laughed as she gave her ass a playful smack, admitting to herself that gravity and stretch marks had not quite won dominion over her body just yet.

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