Repeat(29)

Give me strength. These two are theoretically meant to be on my side, but some days it really doesn’t feel like it. Though I guess their version of the truth is better than having people try to feed me bullshit. Still . . . “I know we probably haven’t been broken up long enough for him to be proposing to the brunette I saw him with at the restaurant. But the ring could have been meant for someone he dated before me.”

Frances shakes her head. “No. He actually asked me if I thought you’d like an antique ring or if you’d prefer a new one. Wanted to be sure you got what you wanted.”

“When did this happen?”

“Must have been about three months ago. Guess he was just waiting for the right moment to pop the question,” she says. “And then everything kind of imploded.”

“He wanted to marry me?” My shoulders slump. This was one piece of my history I could have done without ever learning. “Marriage . . . holy shit. That’s big. Huge. I didn’t realize we were anywhere near that stage. I mean, I knew we were serious and everything, but . . . I feel like the biggest asshole alive.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” chides Iris.

“You shouldn’t have agreed with his idea about me moving in, Frances.”

“Please.” My sister groans. “You know you were desperate to spend more time with the man. I pretty much did you a favor.”

I admit to nothing. The thought of Ed and me planning a long-term future together, possibly involving white picket fences and two-point-five children, has blown my mind. Till death do us part and all that. There are no words. No wonder I broke his heart, thinking he’d cheated on me. Everything considered, the man couldn’t have been more serious about our relationship if he’d tried.

“But your safety had to come first anyway. On the off chance you’re being targeted, changing your location and making sure you’re not alone more of the time is best.”

I disagree, but keep my mouth shut. Instead, I pull out a book.

Ed’s opinion matters to me. He matters to me. So it’s time to take charge. Even if that means groveling.



*



It’s a bit after six o’clock when Ed walks in the door, keys jangling in his hand. Gordon walks over to greet him for a pat, his tail wagging double time. The table is set, the scent of roast chicken and vegetables in the air. Along with a fainter hint of lemon cleanser. I’ve been busy.

This would be easier if my heart didn’t get overexcited at the sight of him. If I didn’t want his approval and affection. But you can’t demand shit from people. You can only give of yourself and hope for it to be reciprocated.

Ed stops cold, head cocked. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh . . . we need to talk. Can we talk?”

“We’re already talking.” His gorgeous face is like stone. All strong angles and no nonsense. “What’s up, Clem? You made dinner?”

“Yeah, I got off work early.”

“Obviously.” His gaze moves around the room. “See you did some tidying up too.”

I just nod. He can witness the glory of his now shining toilet and bathroom tiles later. Every possible inch of his pad has been scrubbed, wiped, swept, mopped, or dusted. And no drawers or cupboards were looked into. I’ve learned my lesson. The goal here is to undo what harm I’ve done, unintentional and otherwise. If I haven’t quite accomplished that, at least I tried.

“And you packed your bags.”

I stare down at the suitcase at my feet. “This wasn’t a good idea, me being here. It was generous of you to open your home to me, but this place should be your sanctuary and that doesn’t work with me here.”

He says nothing.

“My ride will be along soon.” I attempt a smile. It’s doesn’t really happen. “I’m going to go stay at this old B&B I found in the West End. Reasonably close to work, good security, there’s always someone at the front desk, and they gave me a great deal since I booked in for a couple of weeks. Since my payout from the bank came in, I can afford it for a while.”

His gaze narrows. “You’ve already organized all this?”

“Yes.”

His fingers slowly curl in on themselves, gripping the keys tight. Gordon whines softly, picking up on the weird vibe in the room. Poor puppy.

“I’ve never lived on my own. Not so that I remember, anyway. I’m kind of looking forward to it. Dinner’s in the oven when you’re ready.”

He looks toward the kitchen and frowns. “How much cleaning did you do, exactly?”

“Quite a lot. Iris let me off work early.” I just shrug. “This is my way of apologizing and saying thank you.”

“I have a bad feeling I’m being an overly sensitive asshole.”

I laugh. “I have a bad feeling I’ve been an asshole in general, so . . .”

At this, he laughs too, and maybe things aren’t so bad. I made the right decision for both of us, I think. No, I know it. How the hell am I ever going to figure out who I am if I’m always being protected and monitored? There hasn’t been another seizure. No crazy person followed me home. Not that Ed’s place is home. But I’ll be fine.

“Let me help you with the bags,” he says.