The Candidate’s Affair
Copyright © 2016 by T.A. Foster
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Cover Art by Perfect Pear Creative Covers.
Interior design and formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs:
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Books by T.A. Foster
Dedication
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
About the Author
Acknowledgments
FLY
Chapter One
Fly
Written in the Sand
The Candidate’s Affair
Head Over Heels Collection
London Falling
Kissing Eden (Book 1)
Loving Eden (Book 2)
A Very Grey Christmas (Book 3)
Because of Sydney (Standalone Kissing Eden Spinoff)
Hollywood Kiss Collection
Finding Haven (Book 1)
Red Lines (Book 2)
To Shane
I am having an affair.
I know what you’re thinking. There has to be a reason. There needs to be a reason. Something acceptable like after five years of marriage I had spent too many nights alone with a glass of wine. Or when my workaholic husband was home, we slept back to back, as if he had forgotten how to touch me.
You would understand that. You’d probably pity me and say, “Bless her heart. How could a husband treat his wife that way? What else could you do?”
You’d want me to tell you that the only thing we exchanged was conversations about the weather and updates on what needed to be added to the grocery list.
It would probably calm the judgment bubbling to the surface if I described how we ate dinner in front of the television, commenting occasionally on a drastic cliffhanger to be continued next week.
You’d give me a look of pity if I told you he stopped noticing when I got my hair cut, or if I walked into the room in a new dress.
The story would start to come together in your mind if I painted a picture of how we went to bed at separate times out of habit, forgetting that we once scheduled everything around the other.
You could see it happening. You would almost feel it slipping away like water through your fingertips. It might create doubt about your own marriage, even though you’d shake your head, knowing that couldn’t happen to you. Little pieces of your own truth filtering in between the images you have of us.
It wasn’t my fault. That’s what you’d tell yourself. You’d probably want to hug me and console me with the soothing words, “It’s understandable. No one can blame you.”
But, I have a confession. Something you won’t want to hear. Words that will haunt you more than the excuses. None of it is true. My husband didn’t do those things. There isn’t a single thing that led me to another man.
I am having an affair for the worst possible reason. Because I can.
Three months earlier
I clasped the silver monogram and adjusted it so that the letters around my neck were backward in the mirror. The necklace was a gift from Spencer.
Today was the last day of school. Unlike most of my coworkers, I didn't look forward to it as if it was the Holy Grail. I loved my students. I loved their funny questions and looks of wonder when we covered a new topic. I loved planning field trips. Our last excursion took us to the local petting zoo. I had spent the entire bus ride back to school dousing everyone in hand sanitizer. One parent had complained that exposing children to animals would be detrimental to their health. I didn’t see how a bus of smiling kids was anything but an accomplishment. Teaching gave me that.
The summer loomed in front of me like a black hole.
I patted Pepper on the head as I walked down the hall. “Come on, it’s your last day solo for a while.”
He followed me to the back door. As he scurried over the threshold, I watched him chase after a squirrel and stop in front of one of the oaks that bordered our neighbors’ yard. I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.
We didn’t know the neighbors who had moved out. I always kicked myself for not planning a dinner or setting up drinks with them. They lived in the federal-style house for two years, kept to themselves, and moved out before I got my act together and invited them over.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to include them. Spence and I figured they were probably in their mid-thirties, just a little older than we were. They had two children. We didn’t have any. I would see the mom walking with her daughter in the afternoons on my drive home from school. The girl’s pigtails stuck out as if she had run candy fingers through them. But I never stopped. I waved and pulled into our garage, exhausted and determined next time to roll down the window with an invitation.
Last week, I saw a moving truck park in the driveway. Two men hopped out and started unloading boxes. That was how I knew for sure the couple and their sticky children were gone.
I still hadn’t seen the new family, but this time I wouldn’t be the bad neighbor. I was going to take over a tin of muffins, or maybe a bottle of wine. Brownies weren’t a bad option.
My phone buzzed and I answered. “Hey.”
“Hey, you. Ready for the last day?”
Pepper started barking. I sighed. “Not exactly. It always makes me sad.”
“I know, but you deserve a break. It’s been a long year. How about we go out for dinner to celebrate?” Spence’s voice was warm. “There’s that new place on the beach. I can take off early tonight.”
“I can’t. It’s book club night, remember?”
“Oh right. Wine night.”
I laughed. “We do discuss books too. It’s not all about the wine.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. Literacy cloaked in alcohol.”
“You’ll be ok for dinner?” I hadn’t mentioned to Spence that he’d be on his own for dinner. It only happened once a month, but every time I left him home alone, I felt guilty.
“Sure. I’ll grab a pizza on the way home. Or maybe just make a sandwich.”
“I can take something out of the freezer for you.” I tried to think of what I had frozen he could eat. Surely there was half a casserole on one of the shelves.
“I’ve got it, babe. Don’t worry. I can stay a few extra hours at the office tonight since you’ll be out.”
Pepper zeroed in on the neighbor’s side of the house. “Have you seen the new neighbors yet? I was thinking I should take something over there.”
“Sounds good. Sure. Haven’t seen them.”
“Would it be too forward if I invited the wife to book club tonight?” Technically, our book club was open to anyone i
n the neighborhood, but I had never extended an invitation. Jill usually took care of that. You could say she was the unofficial designated welcome wagon.
“Why would that be forward?” Spence asked. “Ask her. I think it’s a good idea.”
“Ok, that’s what I’ll do when I get home from school.” The reminder that today was the last day I’d see my room full of cherubs sent a pit of disappointment straight to my stomach.
“Call me later. I’ve got a client coming in for a deposition.” Spence paused. “Those kids are lucky they had you as a teacher this year. Second grade won’t even compare to the year they had with you. Don’t forget that. You made a difference. You always make a difference. Gotta go, babe.”
I clung to the phone. “Thanks.” I hung up and stepped on the deck. I had to corral Pepper in the house before I left for school.
“Pepper!” I shouted. “Pepper!”
When it suited him, he would come. Pepper was Spence’s dog before we were married. Spence laughed at the end of our second date when he introduced me to the shaggy-haired mutt.
“This is the test,” he warned.
“What test?” I asked, waiting for him to open the door.
“If my dog doesn’t like you, there won’t be a third date.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Seriously? You’d stop dating me because of your dog?” I hoped he was joking, but after two dates, I couldn’t tell. He was hard to read.
“I figure there’s no point in dating a girl if she can’t get along with him. His instincts are always right.”
“Is that right?” That last glass of wine was starting to take effect. I tilted my head and wedged my shoulder against the wall.
Spencer stopped fiddling with the keys and looked at me. My chest rose with a heavy breath, excitement and nervousness coursing through my limbs. I always remembered that moment. That tiny second when his eyes met mine. I thought of how to keep him there, wanting me, wanting my lips. The door was closed and he still wanted to kiss me. I hadn’t failed the test yet. He still wanted a third date. I still had a chance to see him again, kiss him again, and go to bed with him.
I focused on his lips, watching them as he cut the distance between us. I anticipated how they would feel against mine. Soft and firm, urgent and hungry, with a hint of sweetness.
His palm slapped the siding over my shoulder, bringing his body near mine. My eyes moved from his lips to his light blue eyes.
“Audrey.” He smiled.
I tilted my chin upward, letting my mouth graze over his. “Mmmhmm,” I mumbled as his arm slid from the wall and wrapped my body into his. The newness of the kiss washed over me. I had never felt lost and found at the same time. Kissing Spencer was everything I thought it would be.
Slowly, he retrieved his arm and returned to the keys dangling in the lock. I touched my lips, wanting to feel the kiss all over again.
He turned the handle. “Ready?”
I nodded, scared out of my mind that some mangy mutt could steal away the best kisser I had discovered.
“Pepper!” he called into the dark apartment.
Spencer flipped on a light, and I saw the dog barreling down the hall. I stood my ground, knowing dogs could sense fear. I wanted this one to like me. I needed him to love me so I could have more of those kisses. I wanted the third date.
Pepper slowed to a trot before landing at my feet. He sniffed my high heels and rolled on to his back.
Spencer chuckled and I shot a look in his direction. “Does that mean I passed?”
I stooped to the floor to rub the dog’s belly. I didn’t mind working on extra credit points.
Spencer tugged on my arm until I was standing. “I think you passed and then some.” He nudged me against the door. “So, do you want to go out tomorrow night? Date number three?”
I thought this was the part where I was supposed to play hard to get, make him think I wasn’t that easy to get, but my lips still felt the tenderness from his kisses.
I nodded and threw my arms around his neck.
“Good. I was worried you wouldn’t want to go after that prank.”
“What?”
“I was just kidding about the dog. He loves everyone. Worst guard dog ever.”
My arms fell to my side. “You made all of that up?”
Spencer laughed. “You should have seen your face when I opened the door.”
I hit him on the chest. “Not funny. I can’t believe you.”
“Come on, don’t be mad, Audrey. It was a joke. I really do want to go out with you again. I was hoping it mattered as much to you. I shouldn’t have made you nervous. It was stupid.”
I didn’t want to forgive him so easily.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked softly.
The rush of his voice made me relent. I had had a crush on Spencer Kingston for months. I wasn’t going to let it be ruined by a bad joke. “Kiss me,” I whispered.
It was hard to believe that happened five years ago. “Pepper!” My voice was louder now. He scampered onto the deck.
“I’m going to be late.” I shooed him in the house, and picked up my coffee and messenger bag. “See you, later.”
As I pulled out of the driveway, I noticed a different moving van was unloading boxes next door. I waved to the guys stacking boxes by the front steps. First thing when I got home, I would walk over. My bad neighbor manners ended today.
I taught at Charleston Oaks Elementary. It was the neighborhood school in our district. I parked in my assigned spot closest to the first grade wing.
“Hi, Mrs. Kingston.” Mary-Ellen, one of my previous students, waved from the sidewalk.
“Good morning.” I followed her into school.
Most of the children in my classes came from well-established Charleston families. Their backpacks always embroidered. Their lunches packed by nurturing nannies. I had learned that privilege didn’t mean anything to my sweet six and seven year olds. They didn’t know anything about their delegated place in Charleston’s social rankings, only that they should know how to read chapter books before winter break and be able to add all the numbers on their worksheets.
The last day of school always held a frenetic energy. I dodged parents and children in the halls. Pepper had kept me from getting into the classroom as early as I liked. My assistant Claire was already straightening chairs.
“Good morning. Sorry I’m late.” I threw my bag behind my desk.
“It’s the last day. We’ll be lucky if we make it through. Kids are running up and down the halls screaming and it’s barely eight.”
“They’re just excited.” I shrugged.
Claire and I had different approaches to student discipline. We had bumped heads all year. I liked to give the children freedom and let them make some of their own choices. Claire’s philosophies included strict order and direction. She huffed every afternoon during reading hour when I let them have free reign of the classroom and pick a comfy spot to sit and read.
“I’m just glad today’s the last day. I need a vacation,” she said.
“When do you leave for Florida?” I started lining up the pencil and sticker sets I had tied with ribbon as farewell gifts to the children.
“Not until next week, but that gives me time to get caught up on laundry and pack. We can’t do anything lightly with four kids.”
“Right.” I counted out my rows and I was short one set of stickers.
“You should see the suitcases. My husband complains no matter where we go. But I keep reminding him we have four kids and that means more to pack. He’s just going to have to deal.”
“Right, right.” I nodded. I searched my messenger bag. “Here it is!” I pulled out the stickers that had been separated from the pack.
“What about you? You and Spencer traveling this summer? Can he ever get away from work?”
I lined up the first row of pencils at the table closest to the door. The students sat in pods with their names on their workspaces.<
br />
“No, we’re here all summer. Spencer has to work at the firm. We’re hoping for a weekend in the mountains maybe in August. His parents have a place up there we can stay. We usually try to escape the hottest part of the summer,” I explained.
“That sounds nice.” Claire was as impressed with my summer plans as I was with hers.
“Would you mind getting the coloring sheets together?” I pointed to the supply closet. “We can hand them out when the kids get here.”
I didn’t want a planned schedule for their last day. We could fill the time with reading, coloring, and recess. I learned in my first year teaching that a lesson plan on the last day was worthless.
I felt a tug on the hem of my shirt. “Miss Kingston, my mom said I need to give this to you.”
“John Michael, thank you.” I took the coffee mug stuffed with chocolates. “You tell your mom I said thank you. I love chocolate. And what a pretty mug.”
Looking pleased, he sat at the pod in the back of the room. His candy-filled mug was the first of five. I left school that afternoon with a potted plant, an apple pie, a gift card to my favorite Mexican restaurant, two candles, and loads of candy.
The car was hot. I let the air run a few minutes while I positioned all my gifts in the backseat. There was a closet at home dedicated to my teacher gifts. Spence said I should donate them or toss them in the trash; the kids would never know.
But I’d know. I couldn’t get rid of them. The chocolate he always helped me eat, and the rest he just endured, knowing I had a soft spot for anything my students touched.
I backed out and drove home.
I slowed down right before the driveway and noticed the moving men were closing up the truck. There was a man in jeans on the front porch. This was my chance. I could introduce myself to him and his wife.
I parked in the garage and left my car full of candy and “favorite teacher” mugs. I intended to walk over with a baked gift, but my seize-the-moment attitude took hold.
There was a lush magnolia between our two yards. At Christmas, I trimmed the leaves to uses for greenery decorations, embracing old Charleston tradition. As my T-shirt clung to the back of my neck with perspiration, chilly December days couldn’t seem farther away.
The Candidate's Affair Page 1
