“All I’m saying is,” Bonnie added, “you don’t have to hide that you own Magnolia or?—”
“I don’t hide it,” I argued. “Most people are quick to assume and even quicker to judge.”
Also, how dare Bonnie, of all people, criticize me about this? She hid herself every damn day of her life. From her friends and her family and her coworkers. From everyone.
Not from you, a traitorous little voice reminded me.
“Right, but you care,” she accused. “This isn’t some part-time job for you. You built Magnolia from the ground up. You love it. You named it after someone important to you. You’re not just?—”
“Just what?” I snapped when she abruptly cut herself off. “Just a bartender? Is that what you were going to say? Is beingjusta bartender not good enough for you, apple princess?”
Bonnie swallowed. “No, I didn’t mean?—”
My harsh laughter interrupted whatever apology she had locked and loaded. I could feel myself losing control of this conversation. How it had transformed, taking the shape of something private and painful that I didn’t want to talk about. “Right. That’s why I’m your dirty little secret. Slumming it with the low-life bartender until you manage to crawl out from rock bottom.” Her face paled, but I kept right on going, intent on turning this around. To push until she was gone. Determined to destroy whatever quiet, secret thing we were building behind closed doors. “Your perfect family would hate to see you brought so low as to associate with the likes of me.”
She fell back on her wounded-bird routine, shoulders hunched and voice hushed. “You don’t even know them.”
“Yeah, and whose choice is that?” I asked bitterly. “You sneak around with me because, God forbid, anyone sees you as a living, breathing adult woman. Safer to stay on that pedestal, isn’t it? All while your piece-of-shit ex picks up tourists in my bar every weekend.”
If she was pale before, it was nothing compared to the sickly pallor of her skin now. Bonnie looked gut-shot, stark and cold, and utterly stunned. She blinked quickly, and two tears beat a hasty path down her cheeks before she could scrub them away.
I should have known, I thought. That she wasn’t over him. She wouldn’t look like I’d just sucker punched her if she was really done with Danny. And why should I care about that? She was pretty damn honest when she was drunk on my bathroom floor weeks ago, saying she’d take him back if he wanted her. I couldn’t imagine much had changed in the month or so since.
Still, something sharp twisted in my chest at the sight of those tears—at her obvious misery.
Bonnie turned without saying a word, hurrying toward the door.
I took a step—to what? Stop her? I didn’t know. I shook my head, mad at myself for taking my frustration out on her. Bonnie didn’t ask for this. We’d only been fucking for a few weeks, for Christ’s sake. What was wrong with me? I watched her struggle to grab her things by the front door and hated myself a little more.
She left quietly, without a backward glance, shutting the door softly behind her. Even in her obvious hurt and anger, shecouldn’t just let herself slam a fucking door. Picture-perfect till the bitter end.
Thirty seconds later, and I was standing where she’d been, my hand hovering over the doorknob, thinking I should go after her and tell her I was sorry. Give her an apology of my own. Likely the only one between us that had ever been warranted.
Just as my fingers shaped themselves around the cool metal, a knock sounded from the other side.
Relief came swiftly as I flung the door wide. If she was back, even to argue, that was a good thing.
But that hope died as I met the wide, startled gaze of a delivery person holding the bag of takeout.
“Sorry,” the kid murmured uncertainly. “I was just going to leave it.”
I took the food without a word, forcing myself not to slam the door in the guy’s face. It wasn’t his fault, after all.
Nope. The only person I had to blame was myself.
Can we talk?
I’d sent the text two hours after Bonnie had left. I’d shoved the takeout in the fridge and gone for a long drive on my motorcycle, no destination in mind.
It was now Monday afternoon, and I was getting ready for my shift at Magnolia, and there was still no response.
Maybe she’d make this easy and just let it go. In the grand scheme of things, a few weeks with someone wasn’t a big deal.
So I wasn’t sure why I felt like I’d ruined something important.
I’d let my own screwed-up headspace mess things up, and then I’d lashed out at Bonnie for asking perfectly reasonable questions about my business. She’d just inadvertently pressed on a tender spot, one that was already bruised from the mental backflips I’d been doing.
I’d made a lot of mistakes over the years. Backed myself into plenty of corners. And there was nothing worse than starting a fight with someone you cared about when the only person you were battling was yourself.
