HerElliott.
She swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth. He wasn’t hers anymore. Perhaps he never had been.
He’d done good things with the team, great, in fact. If she wasn’t still pissed at him she’d be proud of him. Her heart twisted. She was always proud of him.
She smoothed her hand over her not-been-washed-in-a-week hair, face aflame, and gave an awkward laugh. “Elliott.”
Why did her voice sound so… weird?
His eyebrows were arched high. His jaw hung open. The golden-brown circle around the pupil in his left eye caught the light as his gaze bore into hers, as though searching for something. Mute.
Silently urging him to speak, she slid her damp palms over the thighs of her yoga pants. Had she let herself go so much that he didn’t even recognize her? Or was he simply stunned at the fact she was wearing yesterday’sFeminist AFshirt?
Okay, so her toothpaste had splattered on it a bit, but it kind of looked like it was supposed to be that way, so she’d just gone with it. Another tuck of her hair behind her ear, another awkward giggle.
“Okay. Um.” She gestured at the boxes and packets on the ground and crouched to pick them up, careful to avoid another collision against…well…any part of him.
As though her bending snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, he squatted in front of her, scrambling to pick up the boxes.
Definitely Karma. His thighs filled out his jeans like he’d been poured into the denim. Was it weird to want to bite someone’s thigh? She wasn’t sure she cared.
His eyes were still on her when they stood again. He offered her the heavy flow and overnight pads with a raised eyebrow. His lips twitched like he fought a smile.
Her face was on fire. No, she wasn’t lucky enough to be on fire. But the heat of her cheeks could most definitely have started one. “They’re for my daughter.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. Now he probably thought her daughter was having some kind of severe period emergency that required almost forty pads and the same number of tampons.
Closing her eyes for a beat, Clare sucked in an audible breath through her nose. Maybe if she didn’t meet his confused, amused, and bottomless gaze she’d be able to jumpstart her brain with the heat radiating from the rest of her body.
If only wishing made it so.
When she opened her eyes, he was still there, head canted, smile teasing at the corners of his lips. She pinned her stare to the center of his chest, but couldn’t make her feet move away from him.
He was still voiceless, and she was stuck. Two decades ago they’d have dissolved into a fit of laughter over the whole thing. But now? Their history stretched out between them like taffy in summer heat in the heavy silence.
Too much history. Too much time.
Swallowing down the lump forming in her throat, she turned toward the counter and strode away with purpose. Every fiber of her being wanted to abandon Operation Shark Week and flee the state, but Catriona needed provisions. Plus, if she ran, he’d totally know she was rattled.
Hell, he probably already knew. He always had known her better than she even knew herself. But she wasn’t going to let him see it. Forcing a smile for the cashier, she paid for her items and waved off the receipt. Who needed to take proof of the dreadedpink taxhome with them?
Who needed to carry around a record of such an inordinate spend on something that cost mere pennies to make? Especially for shit that damn near every woman of a certain age needed.
Was she deflecting the fact Elliott’s burning gaze still pierced her back at the checkout with ire at Proctor and Gamble? Maybe.
Did she pick up a packet of gum, two Snickers, and a bag of Sour Patch Kids for a second transaction to buy time so she could pull her shit together before turning to face him again? Damn straight she did.
Hopefully if she took long enough at the checkout, when she turned around, he’d magically be gone. A hallucination. A figment of her imagination conjured to remind her that despite being screwed over by her asshole ex, she was still a woman, still had needs. She was divorced for crying out loud, not dead.
He cleared his throat as she declined the second receipt. No such luck. She shoved the candy into her mom-bag. Either she’d find them again in a month or two in a moment of dire snack-emergency, or Catriona would find them and remove the temptation when she nextborrowedtwenty bucks.
She thanked the cashier with a tight-lipped smile.
The young woman, whose name tag was hidden by her jacket, leaned forward, jerking her chin at Elliott, and lowered her voice. “Ma’am, is that guy bothering you?”
Clare snorted, almost choking on her own tongue, but shook her head. “No, we’re old friends. Thanks for looking out for me though.”
The young woman didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded. “We get some weirdos around here sometimes.”
