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“Because you said we were committed,” she fires back, taking no shit.
“I was feeling you out,” I say, just as fast, just as furious. Doesn’t she get it?
Her eyes pop open wider, and she stares at me like I’ve lost it. “In a meeting? You were feeling me out in a meeting?”
“I was trying to read you like a pitcher reads a catcher.”
She scoffs, her brow creasing. “It’s not a baseball game. We don’t have signs. It’s a business negotiation. How could I possibly have known when you said who wouldn’t be committed that you meant you were feeling me out?”
But I’m not letting this go. I’m pissed for reasons I don’t even fully understand. “How would I think you’d jump ten steps ahead to tell him about the Conservatory of Flowers? The rotunda? He’s practically offered us space here to get hitched,” I say, gesturing wildly to the hotel in the distance, frustration rising high inside me. I stab my chest. “I’ve been married. I don’t need to do that again.”
She freezes. Then takes a beat, probably to process the truth bomb I just dropped. One I didn’t expect to blurt out. “Noted,” she says evenly, but in a way that’s clear I’ve hurt her.
Shit. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She holds up both hands, shaking her head. “I get it.”
“I don’t have anything against marriage. I just…I don’t?—”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to explain yourself.”
But I do. Because now I do understand why I was angry at first. She’d hit a sore spot back there.
That’s all. “Eliza’s mom died when Eliza was one,” I say, heavily. “We’d been married for a year and a half. It was…hard.”
Her face softens, sympathy flooding her eyes. “Oh, Gage. I’m so sorry. For you and for your little girl and her mom.”
There’s so much more to the story though, but now’s not the time to tell her my marriage to Hailey was already on the rocks. Hell, it started on the rocks. I asked her to marry me when I learned she was pregnant. A few days later, we walked out of city hall as Mr. and Mrs. But that’s not the hard part. Yes, our marriage was tough. I’m not sure we were ever really right for each other. The real hard part is how it ended, and it’s pretty much never the time to tell anyone that terrible tale.
I drag a hand over my stubble, trying to reset my mind, my heart, the whole damn morning. “Anyway, my point is that I was just trying to figure out how to handle it with Felix. Maybe play along with him without promising him anything,” I say, and perhaps I’m grasping at straws, but they’re all I can find to hold on to.
“Just string him along?” she asks gently.
“Maybe,” I mutter, but for a guy who prides himself on being responsible that was pretty irresponsible. “I was hoping he’d just think we were together. And we wouldn’t have to…lie then.”
“Is that what you were trying to do? Just string him along and let him think we’re life partners?”
When she puts it like that it sounds pretty stupid. But, yeah. “I guess I thought we’d just sort of roll with it without ever actually having to say it or having to lie,” I grumble.
“Like we’re sort of engaged?”
I shrug, feeling foolish but digging my heels in. “Maybe.”
“Sure. We’re half engaged. It happens all the time. Actually there’s this new trend. It’s called partial engagement,” she says lightly, teasing me now. “If it works out really well, you open it up to mostly engaged. Only then do you decide you want to be all-the-way engaged. And if neither of those work out you just change your status to otherwise engaged.”
I meet her blue eyes, glad they’re playful again because I’ve run out of steam. “Fine. Point taken. The reality is I thought I could kind of have it all. To say we’re engaged without lying about it—that’s what I meant. I don’t want to lie.”
“I understand and I’m sorry, Gage,” she says with genuine remorse. “I was reading you too, and I must have read you wrong. I thought you wanted me to go along with it, so I went all in.”
I bark out a laugh. “You sure did. And that story, woman? About how we met?” I whistle in admiration.
“Hey, it was better than the showerhead!”
“I know! Love poems? Damn. I should have sent you love poems. Fictional Me is going to have a word with Real Me about doing better.”
She smiles softly. “I think taking care of my Lyft was better than love poems.”
I smile now too. “I was happy to help Friday night. And I’m glad Amanda was all good. And listen, I get that you were trying to help. But we clearly took it too far.” One more glance at the hotel across the street, then I shrug like I’m letting it go.
