I sniffled, not able to help the tears that misted my eyes. “Stop it. I have to go to work and I don’t want red eyes and smeared mascara,” I scolded her, not really meaning it.
Vivian smoothed down my hair and kissed my cheek. “Go use that skin cream before you go. Trust me.” I stuck out my tongue but did as I was told. Because damn it, she was right.
I had twenty minutes to grab lunch and get back at the office. That wasn’t enough time to stand in line somewhere so I was forced to run to the grocery store on the corner and grab a salad.
I stood in the aisle trying to choose between a wilted Caesar salad and slightly more wilted Cobb salad. Neither looked appealing and I had a feeling it was going to be a random pick from the machine kind of lunch.
I glanced at the time on my phone and saw that I only had twelve minutes left until I had to be back for the meeting.
Working out of the Southern Garden office was taking some getting used to. It was my first job with regular hours. Freelancing didn’t require a skirt and blouse and working at the coffee shop before that certainly didn’t involve staff meetings and brainstorming sessions.
It was exciting. For the first time in years I felt invigorated. Like I was a part of something.
I had my head down, flipping through my calendar to see what else I had today when I walked right into the last person in the word I would ever want to see.
It was more a crashing of bodies that resulted in the other person dropping their basket of groceries.
“Oh crap, I’m so sorry,” I gasped, falling to my knees and hastily picking up cans of soup, a box of tampons, and four giant packs of Twizzlers.
“It’s fine,” the person responded, sounding like she was chewing on broken glass.
I slowly got to my feet and faced Sophie Lanier. Aka—the love of my life’s girlfriend.
“Oh, hey, Sophie,” I mumbled, hoping I could scurry down the aisle and away from this giant pile of discomfort.
Sophie didn’t even bother to smile in acknowledgment. She took the pack of Twizzlers that I was holding out and dropped it unceremoniously into the basket.
“Hi, Gracie.” She said my name like it was a bad word. Her mouth curled and her nose wrinkled up like I smelled bad. Had my deodorant stopped working?
“Those must be for Mitch. Unless you have an unhealthy obsession with them too.” I tried laughing. It sounded all wrong in my mouth.
“Yes, they’re for Mitch.” She said his name with a territorial edge. Mitch. Her Mitch.
“He’ll appreciate that. He could eat them for three meals a day.” Why was I still standing there talking about Mitch and his love of chewy candy to his less than amenable girlfriend? Especially after our phone call last night. And every intense, consuming encounter that we had shared before that. I should feel shame for lusting after her man. I should feel guilt for loving the person that she claimed as her own.
But I didn’t.
Because in my heart of hearts he belonged to me.
And he always would.
“Thank you for informing me, with all your infinite wisdom, about the things Mitch likes. I sure do appreciate it,” Sophie remarked snidely.
Okay, then.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your shopping. It was nice seeing you,” I lied. I would rather have had a root canal, but no sense in being a total bitch.
“Gracie, was he talking to you on the phone last night?” she asked before I could make my escape.
Why would it matter if he were talking to me?
I looked into Sophie’s narrowed eyes and we both knew that it did matter.
It mattered a lot.
“Yes. We were talking last night. But it’s not what you think—”
Sophie held up her hand and shut me up like a freaking schoolteacher. “You don’t know what I think, so don’t claim to.”
“I was just saying—”
And she interrupted me again!
I clenched my hands into fists and tried to resist the urge to connect it with her cutesy pie face.
“I don’t get it,” she said, her words like acid.