But then Annie’s phone vibrates on the bedside table. I grab it for her, but the screen lights up and I see the name: Brandon Larsdale (flower shop guy).
Wordlessly I hand it to Annie, and I don’t even realize I’m hoping this guy is nothing but a flower supplier until she opens the text, not even trying to hide the screen from me at all, and I see the words: “Are we still on for our date this afternoon?”
So, not a flower supplier.
“You…have a date?” I ask her, frowning and hating how pathetic I sound asking it.
“Yeah. Kind of. I meant to tell you, but…I couldn’t find the right time.” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”
My stomach sinks. Annie has a date. “No, that’s…totally fine…great even.” I sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
“Will…” Annie says in a tender tone.
I give her a quick smile over my shoulder to try to keep her from feeling my weirdness. “It’s all good, Annie. Really. This is the right thing. We just said that we’re on different tracks and this is the exact course yours is supposed to take,” I say, focusing extra hard on sounding normal and not like I’m filled with the jealousy of a thousand suns. Like I want to find this guy and shove him against the wall with my fist and warn him not to touch Annie or he’ll die.
I go into the bathroom and splash water on my face and prepare to finger brush my teeth just so I can get a grip. She’s got a date. Annie has a date this afternoon. With a guy. A guy named Brandon. A guy named Brandon is going to take Annie on a date.
Not sure why I’m listing all of these facts off like they belong on a wall with little red strings connecting all the clues. My behavior right now is ridiculous. Pathetic. It’s not as if I didn’t see this coming. It’s literally what we’ve been working toward.
She told me up front her goal was to find her soulmate. Oh God, what if this Brandon guy is her soulmate? He gets to be her soulmate and I’m just her practice person.
I squeeze the toothpaste container too hard and the paste rockets across the bathroom onto the wall.
Annie enters the bathroom at that exact moment and wordlessly wets a washrag and wipes away the bright-colored toothpaste. I have to scrape my hands over my face because she looks so authentically beautiful and calm, and that only serves to make my nerves zing more frantically. Why am I acting like this? I’m never jealous. I never care if a woman I’ve been seeing goes out with another man.
I care if Annie does.
“Wilton,” she says softly, taking my shoulders and angling me toward her. “Let’s talk.”
“We don’t have to.” I manage not to sound immature somehow. But I want her to know that she doesn’t owe me any sort of explanation. She is her own woman and I am…just her friend.
“You came over and made me soup. And took care of me. And snuggled me. And told me you like me. And then saw a text that I’m going out with another guy. Of course I need to tell you what’s going on.”
“We’re not together for real, so…it’s all good. You don’t owe me anything.” See? This is why. This right here is one of the reasons I don’t want marriage or a relationship. You can never predict what a woman’s next move will be or when she’ll do something that hurts like hell.
Annie seems determined to make me look at her. She takes my jaws in her hands. “But do you want to know who that was?”
“Is he your date for today?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think I’m caught up.”
She drops her hands away but continues to skewer me with her relentless gaze. “He’s a guy who came into the flower shop last week while you were out of town. He’s a vet and just moved into the town next to ours.” She pauses. “We hit it off and he asked for my number. I told him up front that I wasn’t looking for anything casual right now, and he said he feels the same, so I gave it to him because—wasn’t that the goal the whole time? I want to get married. I want a family. I need to do this, Will. You don’t understand, but I have to get married. I have this gaping hole in my heart, and I can’t close it up. This is the only thing left to try to close it even though I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work, and you’re going to leave, and I’ll get married, and it’ll still be in there just empty and hurting.” She’s starting to cry.
I put my hands on the outsides of her arms tenderly. “It’s really okay, Annie. You don’t have to explain. I understand. You’ve got to do this for you.”
She continues, though. “Brandon and I have been texting a little this week, and he asked me out for today. I didn’t tell you even though I’ve wanted to because I was scared it would push you away, and, selfishly, I don’t want you to go away yet.”
I breathe out as I gently grip her biceps and tug her a little closer. “If there’s anything I understand fully, Annie, it’s acting out of selfish need.”
She gives a sad smile. A brave smile. “He seems nice, though. We have the same goals. I had to say yes, Will. There was no reason for me not to.”
I can’t even get upset at that—because she’s right. I’m not a reason. I told her up front I’d never be a reason. Whatever strange connection we have is a blip on the timeline of our lives. An interlude we’ll look back on fondly. And soon, hopefully, I’ll get back to real life, and Rome and Annie and everyone in this absurd town will only be memories.
I force a smile that I don’t feel at all. “I’m happy for you, Annie. Really. And this is great timing, actually, because I’ve had something I’ve needed to tell you too.” I pause. “I’m leaving soon.”
She frowns lightly. “What?”
“After the wedding.” I try to say this as casually and unattached as possible. “Don’t worry—you’re not pushing me away. And it’s not because of your date with Brandon.” The lie slips out easily. “My boss approved my reassignment to Washington, D.C., and I accepted.”
I have to look everywhere but her face. If I look into her eyes, she’ll see the truth. Amelia called my boss yesterday and said she was okay to be reassigned a new EPA (which feels like suspicious timing), and so the text I read this morning confirmed I’ve been cleared to move on to a new job after the wedding.
The thing is, I haven’t actually said yes yet. I had planned to respond to Liv and ask if I could have a few days to think about it because I might want to stay in Rome after all. But this—Annie’s impending date—is exactly the kick in the ass I needed to remember that whatever is going on between us is fleeting. I shouldn’t change my entire life plans for a person I only met a few weeks ago. I’m following my own advice to Ethan and pumping the brakes. Or…I guess a more accurate metaphor would be flooring the gas and getting out of here.
“But…Amelia doesn’t want a different bodyguard.”
“Executive protection agent,” I say weakly. “And she told my boss she was okay with it. It’s going to be hard to move on from…her, but it’s time. I need a faster-paced life. I can’t stay here any longer or…” Or I’ll start wanting things that scare me. Or I’ll contemplate doing the things I’ve promised I never would. “I’ll get bored.”
In the movies, this is where Annie would feel hurt. It was meant to wound. To cut us both so I’ll stop having these damn feelings and to show her that I’m not the good guy she wants. I’ve got a messed-up past and a messed-up heart that I keep clenched tightly in my fist along with a string of women throughout the country who will attest to the fact that I’ll never release it to anyone else.
But this is Annie. And she does nothing as anticipated.
Her smile tilts into one that’s so damn close to pity that my teeth clench. No one—and I mean no one—has ever been able to read me. But Annie does. It’s like she has the subtitles turned on for my brain, and she doesn’t feel hurt. She feels sad for me that I’m standing here and lying to her.
She looks down and clears her throat. “Okay, well good. I’m happy for you, Will.”
“And I’m happy for you.”
We’re all happy, happy people!