I realize I’ve shouted at Madeleine yet again for something that isn’t really her fault. She probably thinks I need anger management. Hell, maybe I do. But for now, I just need to get this car running.
I reach across and pull the trunk release lever. Her eyes follow me curiously as I haul the 24-pack of water bottles up to the front of the car. I take off my button-down so that I’m left in my undershirt.
“Are you trying to pull the ol’ stranded-stranger-will-do—anything-for-a-ride trick? Because it will probably work better if I start to strip,” she says bitterly.
I stay quiet, and bunch the thick cotton material inside my right hand and place it over the warm radiator cap. I take a deep breath and turn my head, steeling myself before twisting the pressurized cap as quickly as possible. My skin prickles as the hot steam escapes through the fabric, and I release when I hear the characteristic pop.
“Start the engine.”
Mesmerized, Madeleine obeys.
Her car starts on the first try, as if in gratitude for the modicum of attention being paid to it. I work quickly, emptying a disheartening number of water bottles into the radiator. Finally, the water overflows and I re-cap the line.
Much to Mouse’s delight, we both hop back in the car and Madeleine starts driving. We’re silent for a while, right up until I gather the courage to glance over and apologize.
“I overreacted and I’m sorry.”
She grunts, her gaze never wavering from the road.
“I shouldn’t have been so rude to you back there. I thought you’d lied to my mom about a marriage proposal and it pissed me off.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I played nice with your family until your mom extracted the truth out of me. I’m sorry for telling her, but that was a stupid plan to begin with. Who brings a fake date to a family barbecue?”
When she says it like that, it sounds pathetic.
“A guy who’s desperate to get his nagging mom off his back.”
The tension in her expression lessons slightly. “Why didn’t you just invite someone you’re actually interested in instead of dragging me along?”
Simple.
“I don’t want to date right now. I’m not ready to date, so there’s no one I could have really asked except for you.”
“Does she want you to be dating someone?”
“Desperately.”
“Because of Olivia?”
I turn away. “Yes, because of Olivia.”
“Is she an ex-girlfriend?”
It feels weird to talk about Olivia with Madeleine, mostly because I don’t talk about Olivia with anyone, not since leaving Chicago.
“Ex-fiancée.”
“Huh.”
I glance back and she meets my gaze. The anger is gone, replaced with healthy curiosity.
“How long were you engaged?”
Five years, six months, and four days.
“A long time.”
“How long is a long time?”
“Five years.” My words are barely audible, but she hears them anyway.
“Five years?!”
I shrug. “We didn’t want to rush it.”
“Did you get engaged after the first date or something?”
“We dated for three years.”
“So eight years total. Yeah, I’d say that’s the definition of ‘not rushing it’.”
I’d like to change the topic, but nothing comes to mind. I could bring up how poorly I behaved at the barbecue, but I don’t want to go down that road again.
“May I ask who broke it off?” she asks gently.
The question should bring a wave of pain and residual feelings, but for the first time I can remember, the memory of Olivia has no effect on me.
“She did.” I shrug. “By sleeping with my best friend.”
The audible gasp that follows that revelation doesn’t surprise me anymore. It’s not a pleasant detail, but it’s important.
“Well, that’s a polite way of ending things.”
I smile out the window.
There’s a long pause before she asks her next question.
“Do you miss her?”
There’s a longer pause before I reply.
“Honestly? No. I miss our dog. I used to run with her in the city.”
“And she got to keep her?! After sleeping with your best friend?”
I know. I regret not fighting harder, but at the time I just wanted out. I wanted to pack my bags, cut my losses, and leave. I left Molly with Olivia because it was easier, and now…
“I wish I hadn’t let her.”
“Well, if you want a running companion, you can have Mouse any time you want.”
I glance into the back seat and Mouse is sitting with his tongue lolling out to the side, completely content. Then, I look back and study Madeleine’s profile. She’s focused on the road, her cheeks flushed from standing out in the sun and her hair wild from the wind. I’m aware of the guttural urge to reach out and touch it, to touch her, but then I remind myself that not twenty minutes ago, we were berating each other. Something tells me if I reached out and touched her now, she’d bite.
“Why are you being nice to me after what I just put you through?”
“I guess I feel bad for you,” she shrugs, tossing me a lazy smile. “And now it looks like I owe you a suit and a shirt.
I laugh at her blunt delivery.
“And more selfishly, Mouse has a lot of energy.” She glances in the rearview mirror. “It’d be pretty nice if someone took him on runs every now and then.”
“So is this a truce, then?”
Her brown eyes meet mine and she smiles. “Somehow, I don’t think a truce with you will last long.”
Though I wish I could, I don’t disagree.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADELEINE
I made a crucial mistake—I forgot to ask Adam about holding up his end of the bargain. To be fair, there wasn’t really a good time for negotiations on Saturday. Between his mom planning our future family, us shouting at each other, and my car deciding to crap out, I somehow wasn’t able to broach the subject of real estate. I have to be careful, especially after how he reacted at the puppy training class. It’s a delicate matter, and one I need to handle with tact if I intend to actually convince him to let me sell him a house.
That’s not to say it wasn’t on my mind the entire day though. As we shouted at each other while plumes of steam billowed out of my car’s hood, all I wanted to ask was, Will you still let me sell you a house?
Pathetic, I know, but I’ve come to terms with where I’m at in life. A person can only pretend to take a fake phone call when they walk by their landlord so many times before their self-worth and decorum fly right out the window.
My Sunday passes in a vaguely miserable state. I scrounge through my pantry and refrigerator and come up with the ingredients for blueberry muffins for Mr. Hall. I owe him rent again soon, but the muffins will fill his belly until I can make that happen.