Are you free for lunch today?
I stare at my phone to see if I’ve read Jared’s message correctly. Shit! What do I do? Reaching for my desk phone to call Lina a second time this morning, I hang up immediately. There’s no point calling her or Nicki. Or anyone. Because I know exactly what the right answer is.
Tap, tap, tap . . . the pen in my hand flicks back and forth against the stack of folders as I toil over this. I have so much to do for Ben, I really should work through my lunch break . . .
Café. Noon?
His responding “yes” comes within seconds.
“You should try the key lime,” the brown-haired waitress suggests, placing a plate of chocolate pecan pie in front of me. I swear, the way they all push it around here, you’d think they were trading key lime stock. I offer her a tight smile and ask her to bring my check, my eyes fixated on the street entrance. Jared has always been notoriously late but half an hour is ridiculous, especially without at least a message.
I’m beginning to think he ditched me when I hear a familiar deep voice say, “Still not willing to try something new.”
I’m instantly pulled from my silent lamenting and straight into that special place where heaven and hell cross paths, where mint-green irises make my heart skip one, two, three beats before it kicks into high gear, despite my best efforts to feel nothing at all. “I stick with what I know.”
He smiles in response. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
I hold my breath as I watch him pull the empty chair out to sit. “No problem. I’ve got to get back to work soon, though.” I was already planning on using work as an excuse for a quick exit, should I need it. Facing him now, I know that I probably will. That pain is an angry bubble swelling once again, only it’s mixed with confusion and fear and . . . yes, anticipation.
He flinches as he adjusts himself in his seat. “I was at this awesome paintball field north of the city yesterday and took a close-range shot to the ass.”
More like thirty shots, if you want to be specific. I purse my lips to keep my vindictive smile from outing me.
“You should go there sometime. I think you’d like it.”
“I’ll look into that,” I manage to get out with a wobble. The only thing keeping me from howling with laughter right now is replaying the visual I have in my head of the moments before we actually attacked, when I was ready to turn and run, listening to that. Thank God for my mask, or Ben would have seen my tears.
There’s a long pause as Jared takes in the other tables, his hands softly strumming against the surface. That’s a nervous gesture of his. “This is kind of awkward, isn’t it?” he finally admits with a lazy chuckle. Another sign of being nervous.
“Not as awkward as the last time.” My eyes inadvertently dart to his arm, to the large reaper tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt.
Seeing where my focus lands, Jared rubs over it, offering sheepishly, “I’m sorry that you found out like that.”
I sigh, wondering if he’s referring to the tattoo or the cheating. Or both.
His eyes roam my hair. “You look really good, Reese. Not that you didn’t before. You just look more . . . grown up now. More responsible.”
I feel my cheeks flush as I study the plate in front of me, my appetite nonexistent. “It’s a little too boring for my taste.”
“You will never be boring.” A quick dart of my eyes catches that gleam in his. Is he flirting with me? Regarding me with that gorgeous face of his that I can’t believe I had license to kiss at all times, he finally sighs. “I fucked up with us, Reese, and I’m so sorry.”
A tinny taste fills my mouth as I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from talking, because I know I’ll get emotional and probably say something defensive. I need to remain calm.
“I’ve loved Caroline since we were six years old. When she broke up with me out of the blue, I was crushed. Then you appear out of nowhere a week later, completely opposite of her.”
“I definitely am that,” I mutter dryly.
That cute smirk only increases the appeal of his face. “You sure are.” It falls quickly. “I was on the rebound. I wanted so bad to be over her, to not think about her, to move on, that I rushed things with you and me. And before I knew it, we were married. Then, about a month after Vegas, Caroline phoned me, crying. I hadn’t talked to her since the breakup, so she had no idea. I guess my parents phoned her parents after we went to meet them, and they told her.”
I roll my eyes at the memory of that disastrous day. I swear, his mother was silently putting a hex on me from across the dinner table.
“Anyway, she called me, crying, telling me how she had truly meant she just needed some time and space but always thought we’d get back together. We agreed to meet up for dinner one night and . . .” He shrugs. “Things happened and I didn’t know how to stop them. So many old feelings flooded back and they confused me. And then you caught us that day in the shower and . . .”
I squeeze my eyes tight against the memory, of hearing him coming as I walked in. That’s why they hadn’t heard me in the first place. But there’s something more important here. “You were already cheating on me a month after we got married?” I can barely hear my own voice—it’s barely audible—as the truth starts revealing itself. How can I even call what we had a marriage? It was a total sham.
“No! After that first night, I told her I couldn’t see her again and I didn’t for a month. But then she was at my parents’ anniversary party.” The one I refused to attend.
If I had gone, would we still be sitting across the table right now, talking about our failed marriage?
He drops his gaze to his hands. “She’s always been so sweet and caring, and . . .” I clear my throat to stifle the bitter laugh. She has him fooled. “. . . she fits with my family well and . . .” Yes, his family, who was crushed when he brought me home. “ . . . she’ll make a good mother one day.” He sounds like he’s spewing out his parents’ propaganda, but the more he goes on, the more desolate I become. If that’s what he wanted in a wife, then we never had a hope in hell. Sweet . . . caring . . . fits in . . . future good mother . . . None of those labels fit me, regardless of whether they’re real or fraudulent on her.
It feels like he’s the one with a paintball gun aimed at point-blank range at my heart, firing mercilessly. I didn’t come here to listen to this. I make a move to push my chair back when I hear, “But I miss you, Reese.”
My mouth drops open, the conflicting end to that “Ode to Caroline” startling.
Eyes thick with emotion blaze into me. “We were pretty fucking great together, weren’t we?”
And then he reaches out to grab my hand.
The still vivid memory of them together yesterday wraps its fist around my guts and squeezes, reminding me not to let myself drift into the nostalgic, not to let myself get caught up in his words now. I want to be screaming at him, agreeing, “Yes! We were fucking awesome together and you ruined it!” I should be stabbing his hand with my fork. But instead I let myself accept the physical contact for just a moment longer, until I manage to lose my gaping jaw, and then I pull my hand out from beneath his and use the fork to jab at my pie. It’s untouched, but at least they can’t serve it to anyone else with holes all through it.
He waits in silence as I take three long, deep calming breaths. “Does she know you’re here with me right now?” I do a cursory glance around the patio, looking for the little ginger-haired husband-stealing bitch hiding behind a plant.
A frown zags across his forehead. “What? You think she’s watching from somewhere?”
“No, only a crazy person would do that.”
He pauses, a smirk curling his lips. “No, she doesn’t know. She’s not even talking to me right now.”
“Oh yeah? Had a big fight?” My conscience starts to laugh—a wicked, triumphant cackle inside my head.
“Yeah. Over something stupid that happened at paintball,” he murmurs absently, cocking his head. “Don’t look so happy about it, okay?”
“I’ll try my best,” I offer, deadpan.
He folds his hands into one another. “We’ve been fighting a lot, actually. I’ve known her for eighteen years and yet the second I said those vows, it’s like she changed into an entirely new woman and she’s trying to change me with her.” He works his mouth for a moment, watching me carefully. “You weren’t like that, though, were you?”
That’s because we only knew each other for six weeks before we got married. And no, I wasn’t. I accepted him as he was. I hold his gaze—a heated look that I’ve seen plenty before, though never while sitting in a public place—but I say nothing to that.
“So this lawyer you’re seeing, how long has that been going on for?”
“A few months,” I lie.
He nods slowly, reaching out to curl his hands around my empty mug, pushing it back and forth slowly. “I was thinking we could all go out to dinner or something, sometime.”
Now my bitter laugh does escape. I know Jared can be kind of dense sometimes—letting me walk into the apartment to collect my things that day is a good example of how he sometimes doesn’t think through his ideas—but this? Chewing food . . . carrying on a conversation . . . not slitting Caroline’s throat with a steak knife . . . all things that sound impossible.
Green eyes flicker to my face, assessing me. “Too weird?”
“Just a little.”
He shrugs. “Okay, well . . . maybe drinks or something more casual at first. Even just the two of us. I really want to be friends, Reese. At least.”