What he didn’t realize was that it wasn’t that I didn’t think he was good enough, I saw that he had started to think that he wasn’t good enough.
And it killed me as much as it killed him.
I stopped fiddling with my bags and set them down on our kitchen table with a long sigh. “You really don’t have a show?”
He turned around and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I really don’t have a show.”
“Oh.” I tried not to stare at his clothes. He worked part time for a moving company, so he never would wear nice clothes to work.
Was it a date?
Oh, god. I thought I would be sick from the sudden, acrid burst of jealousy inside me.
He turned back around to wash his dish and so I went back to emptying my lunch bag into the trash, trying not to plot murder in the first degree for the unknown female. I heard him fiddling with the faucet but refused to turn around. I couldn’t stare at him the entire time he was here. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d get the hint and go away.
“This is leaking,” he announced gruffly.
Immediately I felt defensive. “I didn’t break it.”
His chuckle surprised me so I whirled back around. “I didn’t say you did.”
“Well, you don’t live here anymore. I figured the accusation was implied.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes and I had to look away. Suddenly, my heart was in my throat and I forgot how to breathe.
“I’m not blaming you, Kate. A leaky sink is hardly a sin anyway.”
I nodded, still unable to look at him. God, what was with this guilt? When had I started worrying about his feelings or how I hurt them?
The silence between us became stilted and uncomfortable. I had just gathered up enough courage to ask him to leave so he could go on his stupid unconfirmed date, when he shocked the hell out of me by asking, “Do you want me to fix it? Most of my tools are still in the garage.”
“If you don’t fix it, will it like… break the house?”
His lips twitched and I noticed he had to look away from me too. But not because he felt bad. He was trying not to laugh. “It’s better if I fix it,” he said.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
He pushed his sleeves up higher and then bent down so he could look under the sink. I hovered uncertainly. What was I supposed to do now? Should I keep him company? Did I need to watch him so he didn’t try to steal the dog?
Did I have time to steal his phone and figure out who the other woman was? The one he planned to marry tonight and have ten babies with by tomorrow?
Should I check myself into a mental health facility because clearly I’d lost my damn mind?
“Go do whatever it is you need to do,” he called out from under the sink, his voice slightly muffled with his head in the cabinet. “Don’t worry about me.”
I leaned over the island so I could see him better. “Are you sure? Can I get you something?”
“Go, Katie. I know you want to get out of those clothes.”
I looked down at my outfit, wondering how he knew that. Er, how he remembered that. Obviously we’d lived together for seven years so he did know some of my habits.
My gaze traveled over his toned back and the nice shirt that hugged his runner’s body. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about his date or the nice clothes he was wearing, but I changed my mind at the last minute. If he wanted to change, he would. Surely there was something in his closet he could dig out.
Instead of bothering him anymore, I escaped upstairs. I stared at my closet for longer than I should, debating what to wear.
My natural inclination was to throw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, but there was part of me that wondered if I should look nicer while Nick was here. It wasn’t that I wanted him to be attracted to me or anything; I just didn’t want him to think I was a slob.
Not that he didn’t know me better.