Kyle didn’t mention he had a date this evening, and it’s not like he didn’t have ample opportunity when we were together earlier. That leads me to believe he didn’t want me to know about it.
He was probably trying to protect your feelings.
Knowing Kyle, that’s the most logical answer. We went on a date, we kissed, and he wasn’t into it. That’s fine. I can’t make him love me, and I’m not pathetic enough to try any harder than I already have. At this point, the only thing I haven’t tried is throwing myself at his feet and begging.
After this many years, maybe it’s finally time to admit it isn’t going to happen.
“You okay?” Isaac asks. He shrugs out of his jacket and slides into the seat across from me.
Reluctantly, I meet his eyes, knowing the brief run-in had to have been awkward for him too.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
He shrugs, not looking particularly bothered.
I look down at the menu, wondering what in the world I’m going to order. The items are listed in French, though the descriptions are thankfully in English. Still, I have no idea what most of this stuff is.
“What’s good here?” I ask. “I can’t read half of the menu.”
“I have no idea.”
I look up, surprised. “You’ve never been?”
“A friend from work—Carter’s fiancée—likes to come here. It’s her favorite restaurant. She recommended it.” He raises an eyebrow. “I wanted to impress you.”
Shocked by his honesty, I laugh. “Mission accomplished.”
I glance around, taking in the dark, quiet ambiance of this section of the restaurant. The decor is refined but rustic—elegant without trying. Sprigs of lavender are arranged in an earthen jar on the table, and their herbal scent lightly perfumes the air. It mingles with the rich fragrance of spices and roasting meats coming from the kitchen. Candles in glass votives flicker on either side of the simple arrangement.
The front of the restaurant seemed less intimate, but back here…it’s very cozy.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally say.
“As is my company.” He grins at his menu, acknowledging the compliment, somehow making it less trite. “We have a problem, however.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t see a single hamburger on this menu.”
“Maybe not, but you should look at the desserts.”
He peers at me over his menu. “How hungry are you?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s a first date. I’m too nervous to eat much.”
Laughing softly, he sets his menu down, crosses his arms, and leans back in his seat. “Are you always this honest?”
“Most of the time.”
“Except with him.” He jerks his head toward the front of the restaurant, his meaning clear.
I fold my cloth napkin in half. “Kyle and I have a complicated relationship.”
“When you saw him with that woman, you looked like someone stole your puppy.”
Before I can answer, our server arrives.
Isaac turns to me after we’ve heard the specials. “How about we skip to dessert?”
“Are you serious?” I laugh, though I’m still unsettled by the puppy comment. Am I that transparent?
“Yeah.” He leans forward and drops his voice, though the man serving us is right there and bound to hear him. “We’ll grab real food if you’re hungry later.”
“You know what—yes. Let’s do it.”
We end up ordering two to share, a crème brûlée and a chocolate raspberry soufflé, and then we’re alone once more.
“So, do you enjoy working at Kentford’s?” I ask, taking the opportunity to steer the conversation in a more comfortable direction.
Isaac laughs. “No, no. None of that. You obviously need to talk, and I happen to be an excellent listener.”
I meet his eyes. “Why are you so nice?”
He gives me a shrug as if he has no idea. “Come on. Why haven’t you told him how you feel about him?”
I laugh to myself—a miserable sound—and stare at one of the flickering candles. “He knows.”
“Is that girl speak for “It’s obvious, so he must know,” or he actually knows because you’ve told him?”
“No, he knows. And we went on a date. He kissed me.” I force myself to look up and smile. “And that was that.”
Isaac appears to be thinking way too hard about something. “What do you mean?”
Sighing, I realize we’re doing this. Well, fine. If he wants me to unburden myself on him, then why not?
“Kyle dated this girl for about five years. In October, he proposed, and she dumped him. He took it hard, but I thought he was getting better. Then he asked me out. Literally seconds after we kissed, he told me he wasn’t ready.” I flick my napkin toward Kyle’s table, glad I can’t see him from here. “Apparently he is ready. He just doesn’t want me.”
Isaac frowns, not in a pity kind of way—but like he doesn’t buy it.
I laugh and shake my head, declaring we are done with the subject. “Goodness, I am a fun date.”
His smile warms. “Don’t let him ruin your night.”
We study each other, and after a moment, I nod. “Okay. Get my mind off him, Isaac.”
He raises his brows, looking up to the challenge. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Let me tell you about the time I was working on an old Ford Mustang in my dad’s garage and found a snake hanging out in the engine compartment. I’d just rolled underneath the car, and there he was, wrapped up in the frame, looking at me from not even a foot away.”
“What did you do?” I ask, appropriately horrified.
“Screamed like a girl. I don’t know who was more freaked out—the snake or me.”
I laugh and settle back in my seat, determined to enjoy the rest of my evening.
* * *
Isaac’s car rumbles to a stop in front of my house. It’s a classic something—no clue what. But it’s red and shiny, and the interior is spotless. Frankly, it’s a lot nicer than I would expect from a vehicle that’s over fifty years old.
“Can I walk you to your door?” Isaac asks, the car still rumbling.
I bite back a smile and give him a stern look. “Is that your subtle way of getting yourself invited inside?”
“No, ma’am,” he says, looking as wholesome as can be, though I’m pretty sure there’s some mischief behind those innocent eyes. “I just want to make sure you make it inside all safe and sound.”
“Did you just ‘ma’am’ me?” I ask.
He leans across the seat—not too close, just enough that he’s brushing the edge of my personal bubble. “Sweetheart, you told me you collect cats and crochet. If you’re not ma’am material, then I don’t know who is.”
I grin and jerk my head toward the house as I open my door.
“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him when we reach the porch. Savannah left the lights on, and since her car is in the drive, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s peeking through the curtains.
Isaac comes to a stop near the door. His smile is genuine and warm, and I want with every fiber of my being to feel something more than mild affection. Why can’t I flutter? Why can’t my knees wobble or my pulse jump?
He looks up, studying the porch light. “Would it be too forward of me to ask to kiss you goodnight?”
A girl doesn’t want to be asked permission.
Why does everything remind me of Kyle?
I nod, hopeful that this might create the spark I’m so desperately waiting for.
Isaac crosses the porch, and a smile plays on his lips like he can read my mind. I expect him to touch me or something, but he keeps his hands to himself when he leans down. I wait, cold dread sliding down my spine.
“Stop,” I murmur just before our lips meet. I close my eyes, more disappointed with myself than I should be.
“No?” he whispers, sounding about as disappointed as I am.
&
nbsp; I reluctantly nod, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckles as if he’s not surprised. “Nevertheless, I had a great time with you, Kaylee. You call me if you ever want dessert instead of dinner again. Good luck with your friend.”
Goodness, he’s nice.
I unlock the door and give Isaac a wave as he drives away.
“How was your date?” Savannah asks from her usual spot on the couch. This time, she’s in purple sleep shorts and a bright blue T-shirt, with pastel pink socks that come all the way up to her knees. She sits with her legs crossed, and her script rests on her lap. A rerun of the original version of The Newlywed Game plays on the TV, but I don’t think she’s watching it.
I frown at her. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I think you need to get out more. It’s Friday night, and you’re dressed like an anime character, watching ancient gameshows. And…your face is green.”
“It’s a sulfur mask,” she explains, ignoring the rest. “My skin was trying to break out.”
I let out a short, scoffing laugh. “You haven’t had a breakout in your life.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thank you for that, but you didn’t know me in middle school.”
“My date was fine,” I say, finally answering her question. “Isaac is funny, sweet, attractive…”
“And not Kyle,” she says. Her tone isn’t exactly sympathetic, but it’s not devoid of feeling either.
I sigh and throw my purse on a chair. “And not Kyle.”
“I’m sorry, Kaylee.”
I sit next to her and bury my face in my hands. “He was there, at the restaurant.”
“Who?” she asks, sitting up straighter. “Kyle?”
I nod pitifully. “He was on a date.”
“He was what?” she asks, her tone sharpening. “But he just told you he wasn’t ready—”
“I know.” I groan into my hands. “It was so awkward.”
“You talked to him?” she demands.
“I didn’t have a choice. He, Daniel, and their dates were at a table next to the walkway. We had to go right past them. It would have been worse if I’d pretended I didn’t see him.”
“What happened?” she asks.
“Daniel asked us to join them. The waitress said she’d move over a table.”
“No,” Savannah gasps. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
I finally drop my hands and lean against the back of the couch. “No.”
She sighs as if relieved. “Well, thank goodness for that.”
I watch the TV for a bit, bitterly acknowledging that Kyle and I could beat any of these couples any day of the week, while Savannah studies her script. After several minutes, she flips it closed and then turns to me. “Want to watch another Jane Austen movie?”
I give her a listless shrug.
“Great.” She’s already grabbing the remote and heading to the search screen. “I think it’s time you meet Mr. Darcy.”
“A man no guy can live up to,” I say, quoting Isaac from our speed date.
She looks at me, surprised. “You’re familiar with Mr. Darcy? I thought Emma was your first Jane Austen experience.”
“All I know is he has something to do with zombies.”
She laughs like that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever said and then begins the movie. As the opening music crescendos, I push thoughts of Kyle and my enjoyable, but sparkless, date with Isaac out of my head.
23
I don’t know what I’m doing. I should drive home, go to bed, deal with all this in the morning. Kaylee’s with Isaac. She’s probably not even back yet.
I pull into her subdivision, refusing to talk myself out of it. I have to explain why I was out tonight—even if it means putting myself out there.
I finally realized, after far too long, that I more than like Kaylee. I love her. Why did it take seeing her with another guy to make me face my feelings? Maybe because for the last five years, I shouldn’t have been harboring them.
Tonight, I’m going to tell her no matter how hard it is. I need to show her my cards and hope for the best.
Apprehension turns to a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I see the classic Dodge Charger in front of Kaylee’s house. I drive by just in time to see Kaylee’s date lean down and kiss her goodnight.
I clench my fists on the wheel, refusing to give in to the urge to pull over. I’d make a scene, and then Kaylee would be mad.
My frustration grows, morphing into anger.
Kaylee is supposed to be mine. Who does this guy think he is? It took me nearly fifteen years to kiss her, and he has the audacity to make a move after only one date?
Thankfully, sense shines through my fog of irritation, dulling my anger. I know this is my fault—Kaylee wouldn’t be out here with him if I hadn’t pushed her away. That doesn’t make it any easier, though.
I drive around half the night, too agitated to go home. I finally stumble through my front door at five minutes after three, nearly dead on my feet. I toss my keys on an end table I inherited from my aunt, coming to a dead stop the minute I step into the living room. I blink several times, wondering if I’m seeing things.
Ava lies across the couch, fast asleep, hands pressed together and tucked under her cheek. Her black hair falls around her shoulders, down for the first time in maybe forever. I don’t even remember the last time Ava wore her hair free.
Confusion blankets me, so intense it’s almost suffocating.
Trails of mascara stain her fair cheeks, betraying that she’d been crying sometime recently. Her legs are tucked close to her chest as though she was cold when she fell asleep.
I’m not sure how long I stare at her. My first impulse is to wake her and demand to know what she’s doing in my house.
Instead, I cross the room, feeling oddly numb. From the back of the couch, I pull down the faded quilt my grandma made and drape it over her. Then I crouch in front of her, studying the woman I was with for five solid years.
What’s she doing here?
Slowly, I raise my hand to run a knuckle down her cheek. Just before I touch her, I stop myself. My hand drops to my side, and I push myself to my feet.
Leaving Ava to sleep, I head for my bedroom.
I guess she’s given me no choice. I’ll have to talk to her in the morning.
24
Sunlight peeks through a crack in my curtains. The warm sliver of it falls right across my face, waking me. I blink several times, and the remnants of an obscure dream fade. Once awake enough to be coherent, I realize it’s Saturday morning, and I have nowhere to go and no one to see.
The thought makes me melancholy. I roll over, determined to go back to sleep—maybe until Monday.
Unfortunately, I’m awake, and that’s not likely going to change anytime soon. So I end up lying here, blankets pulled over my head to block out the chipper sunshine, thinking about the last person I want on my mind right now.
Why didn’t Kyle call last night? I was sure he would after he got home from his date. I was prepared for his excuses as to why it was okay to date her but not me—ones carefully crafted to make me feel less unworthy of his attention. I was ready for the conversation, eager to get it out of the way.
But my phone sat silent all night.
Which means he either didn’t think it was that big of a deal, which is possible. Or he had such a great time that the date lasted into the wee hours of the morning, and he didn’t get a chance to call or even remember that we have things to talk about.
For all I know, that woman could still be at Kyle’s house now.
No, I reprimand myself. That’s not like Kyle, and I shouldn’t let myself think badly of him just because I’m hurt.
I end up tossing my covers aside, ready to be out of bed and away from my thoughts. Sadly, the shower is another perfect setting for silent brooding, and it’s not any better when I dry my hair. Why I bother to blow it out, I have no idea. It’s not like I have anyone
to impress.
I’m the first one in the kitchen, though there are signs of life. The coffeemaker hisses and steams as it brews, and the glass carafe is already half full. Either Savannah remembered to prep it last night and set a timer—unlikely—or she’s up too.
My roommate ends up joining me a minute later. I stare blankly at the coffeemaker as it reaches the end of its cycle. It’s dripping so slowly, it could make a person insane.
“Morning,” she says all chipper-like. Even when Savannah stays up late, she’s one of those morning people—the worst type of people, if you ask me.
But there are perks. I never have to make coffee anymore.
Nodding a greeting her way, I pull a mug from the counter.
“Do you work today?” Savannah asks.
I shake my head.
Before I shut the cupboard, she reaches around me and pulls her favorite pink and gold mug from the shelf. She lets me pour my coffee before she attempts, once more, to engage me in conversation.
“What are your plans for the day?”
I shrug.
With a frown, she sets down her cup and places both hands on her hips. “All right—that’s enough. You haven’t said a word since I walked in here.”
“Would it be stupid if I went to see Kyle this morning?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, not even bothering to mince words. “We’re mad at him, remember?”
“We are?” I ask with a small smile.
She nods as though the question is ridiculous.
Once my coffee is appropriately diluted with sweet cream, I sit at the kitchen table and watch Savannah buzz around the kitchen.
“I’m going to go,” I finally say, this time with conviction.
She frowns my way. “Don’t you want breakfast first?”
“No.” I stand, plunk my half-empty cup of coffee on the table, and head for the front door.
“Kaylee,” she calls—one last attempt to make me change my mind.
“I’m going, Savannah.” I sling my purse over my shoulder and rifle through the pockets for my keys. “Don’t try to stop me.”
“I just thought you might want to put on shoes.” She grins. “Just a thought.”
27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart Page 12
