“I’ll catch up to you,” he said, waving her off. He didn’t have to tell her twice; she was out the door and hurrying past the window, her head bent like a shamed dog. Nigel slumped into the seat opposite Winnie. She searched his face to see what he was feeling, but his expression was neutral. He’d always been better than her at hiding his emotions.

“So you follow me now?”

“So you have lunch with work whores now?”

Nigel’s head jerked back in offense and Winnie felt rage.

“She’s a colleague,” he began. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“She fed you food from her fork. Do you do that with Brady when you have lunch together?”

He was momentarily speechless. Nigel looked stupid when he was speechless; Winnie had never noticed that before. He looked like what her father used to call a dumber-than-shit idiot. His eyes were cantering around, blinking like the room was too bright.

“Have you slept with her?”

He’d been preparing for this for the last minute, thus the neutral expression, she thought. His systems were in overdrive trying to wiggle out of this.

“What? No!” But Winnie already knew it was true. She could see it in his eyes. He was ashamed. He was bowing his head a little like Dulce had when she walked away.

“Nigel,” she said firmly. “Tell me the truth. I deserve the truth at least, don’t you think?”

He stood up, almost sending the table toppling. “You don’t get to come in here and accuse me of things.” Winnie was so lost in her shock that she found nothing to say. He was red-faced, though his lips were shockingly white, like he’d bitten into a powdered doughnut. It was Nigel’s tell; when he was lying, when he was guilty. His outburst immediately embarrassed her.

Recoiling in her seat, she felt hurt rise in her throat, making her want to moan out loud. He slammed out of the door as she sat, still as a statue. People were looking; of course they were—Winnie would have looked, too. And then she knew—he’d done it to throw her off—to buy time for a better lie. Using her weakness against her was an all-time low for their marriage. She drained her water glass, left a generous tip, and took an Uber home.

Five hours later, Nigel walked in the door after work. Winnie had spent those five hours finding out everything she could about Dulce Tucker. She could hear him depositing his work bag in the junk closet, then his heavy tread up the stairs as he went to change out of his work clothes.

He came down a few minutes later wearing sweats and a T-shirt. Seating himself at the table, he folded his hands rather piously on the tabletop. “Can we talk?”