Chapter 1

My husband laughed when his friend told me the seat beside him belonged to his ex.

"That one's Brooke's, Lauren. You can sit down there."

Scott pointed to the far end of the table. My hand was still on the back of the chair beside Grant.

I looked at my husband, waiting for him to tell Scott I was sitting with him.

Grant set his glass in front of the empty chair.

"Come on," Scott said. "That's been her spot for years."

A few people nodded. I let go of the chair.

Brooke hadn't even arrived.

Tonight was his college buddy's birthday bash. Two years into our marriage, I'd been to countless parties like this, yet I'd never truly secured a seat in their inner circle.

They talked about people I didn't know, laughed at inside jokes I didn't get, and called Grant by his frat house nicknames.

Whenever I lost the thread, Grant would just lean in and murmur, "That's just how they are. You'll get used to it."

The door swung open. It was Brooke.

She walked straight to Grant. She didn't ask whose seat it was; she just sat down and casually draped her scarf over the back of his chair.

"Whiskey again?" She picked up the drink menu, frowning at him. "You know you have a sensitive stomach. Stick to wine tonight."

Grant gave a half-smile. "Look who's being bossy."

"If I don't keep you in line, who will?"

The table cracked up, a couple of the guys whistling.

Someone teased, "Brooke's always got his number."

I sat against the wall, watching Grant. He didn't deny it. He just looked down, smiling, as if being scolded and taken care of by her was the most natural thing in the world.

Brooke turned to me, her smile softening. "Lauren, don't mind us. We're old friends. We don't really have a filter."

Before I could say a word, Scott chimed in. "Yeah, don't overthink it. Grant and Brooke broke up ages ago. They're strictly platonic now."

The laughter swelled again.

I looked at Grant.

He finally noticed me, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. "They're just messing around."

"Is it supposed to be funny?" I asked.

He frowned. "Lauren, don't kill the mood."

Just like that, the laughter died. Everyone stared at me, as if I were the one who'd ruined everything.

Brooke immediately raised her glass, her tone breezy. "Alright, alright, my bad. Let me buy the next round. Lauren, I seriously didn't mean anything by it. Grant is your husband now, I know that better than anyone."

She said it graciously, playing the peacemaker to spare me the embarrassment.

But her hand was still resting on the back of Grant's chair, her fingertips barely an inch from his shoulder.

For the rest of the dinner, I barely said a word.

They reminisced about a spring break when Brooke passed out on Grant's shoulder; about the time Grant got into a fistfight to defend her.

I felt like someone who had stumbled into a stranger's old photo album, sitting completely out of the frame.

As the party wound down, Grant went to get the car. Brooke walked with me to the entrance.

She pulled her scarf tighter, her voice dropping so low only I could hear.

"Lauren, you don't need to be so on edge."

I looked at her.

She offered a small smile. Her eyes were ice-cold and clear-headed.

"If I really wanted him back, do you honestly think you'd even have a seat at that table?"

She took a step back, slipping her innocent smile back into place.

When Grant pulled up to the curb, she reached the passenger door first, casually tossing her scarf onto the seat.

"Oops, I forgot." She turned to me. "You take the front. I'll hop in the back."

Grant frowned at me. "Lauren, it's just a scarf."

I looked at the scarf. Then I looked at him.

That night, it finally clicked.

It wasn't that I couldn't earn a seat next to Grant.

It was that they had never planned to leave one for me.