I cried. I heard the garage door open and an engine rumble down the drive, and heavy sobs tore out of me. Then I wiped my face, found the bathroom, took a shower, and got my favorite pajamas out so I could sleep. This kind of hurt was familiar, and I could deal with it. Sex always sucked; this was no different. I didn’t believe any of those silly romance books that talked about explosions and passion and waves of sparks. Complete bull, as far as I was concerned. Sex was awkward, painful, and, unless you were one of the lucky ones, it always involved men.Blegh.
Despite the tragic lack of pillows on the cottage bed, I slept. Around midnight, I woke up with my bladder about to burst and my head in an even greater amount of pain—crying always did that to me—so I crept out of the room and went to pee. When I couldn’t find any Advil in the bathroom, I expanded my search to the kitchen. The cottage was dark and quiet. Gideon still wasn’t back from wherever he’d gone, and that wasfine. Completely fine. I wasn’t hurt, or worried, or jealous. I wasglad, actually, because I didn’t have to see his stupid, handsome face and try to find the words to explain what had happened a few hours ago.
Okay, I was a little hurt. I’d kind of gotten wrapped up in the whole wedding thing and started to think this was meant to be. Marital bliss. Not.
When I woke up around five, it was still dark out. I padded out of the room to find the living room undisturbed; Gideon was still out.
I wasnotmaking up stories of him shacking up with a hypothetical ex on our wedding night. I wasn’t going to spiral. That was not happening, no matter how badly my brain wanted to take me there. So my last ex had cheated on me on top of everything else? It didn’t mean Gideon would. I was a grown woman, damn it. I wouldn’t be reduced to petty jealousy about a man who obviously didn’t give two shits about me.
No.
What I did instead was make myself a strong cup of coffee from the stash in the cupboard and take stock of my situation. As I sipped my coffee and watched the sky lighten to gray, then purple, and finally blue, I came to a conclusion.
I couldn’t stay here.
Yes, I’d had fantasies of happy endings, but they were just that: fantasies. There was no basis in reality for those feelings, and I refused to put myself through one more minute of torture. I was clear-eyed as I watched the sun rise over the water, taking deep, cleansing breaths to let the decision settle over my shoulders.
I’d tap out. I’d go to my parents and ask them for help. They would look at me like I was their biggest disappointment asusual, but I would survive. I’d go to the family holiday and sleep on the pull-out couch and endure comments and criticisms, but I wouldnotdebase myself by staying with a man who wanted nothing to do with me. Marriage ceremony or no.
Air filled my lungs, and my spine straightened. The crumbling tower of my self-worth repaired itself just a bit with the decision. I took my coffee to the bedroom, where I packed up the few items I’d taken out of my suitcases. Then I tossed my toiletries back in their case and packed that away too. I zipped everything up and planted my hands on my hips. It felt good to take action. I rolled the suitcases out and stood them next to the hallway to the garage.
Back in the living room, I looked around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. As soon as my tire was fixed, I’d get on the road. Until then, I’d book a hotel room so I wasn’t stranded in the middle of nowhere. That meant I needed a taxi.
Before I could call one, a car swung into view at the bottom of the drive, and my heart began to thump.
Gideon was home.
I forced myself to sit down on the couch and resist the urge to run to the bathroom to make sure I looked presentable. How I looked made no difference. Gideon would never be my husband—not really. This was a blip in the story of my life. A funny anecdote that I would tell at parties.
Nothing more.
I sipped my cold coffee and stared at the glittering surface of the water, pretending that every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on the sound of the garage. The car engine stopping. Footsteps on concrete. The squeak of a door hinge.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I turned in my seat, looking over the back of the couch.
Gideon stood in the mouth of the hallway, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. He had dark purple circles hugging the bottoms of his eyes. His stubble had grown out overnight. His hair was a mess. His shoulders were slumped. He carried a tray with two huge cups. The logo on the cups proclaimed they were from Knead More Bread.
But it was his expression that made my breath catch. He was…careful. His eyes skated over my face, then moved to my packed bags. He went still for a beat, then swallowed. “You’re leaving,” he said, voice nothing more than a scrape.
I stood to face him. “I think it’s for the best.”
His pause was excruciating, but Gideon finally nodded. “You’re probably right.” His fingers covered the logo as he grabbed the cup on the left, sliding it out of the tray before extending it toward me. “Matcha latte, half sweet, made with almond milk,” he said.
I blinked at him. He’d gotten my favorite coffee order exactly right. “How did you know?”
A dusting of red bloomed on his cheeks, and his gaze slid away from mine. “It was in your profile,” he said, then cleared his throat.
I frowned. “It was?” I didn’t remember reading abouthiscoffee order in his profile, and I’d combed through those three pages like my life depended on it.
He grunted.
And then I remembered. There was a section in the application where I was asked to describe my perfect day. I’d written a bunch of drivel that held a kernel of truth: With my husband, I’d watch the sun rise while drinking a half-sweet almond milkmatcha latte, have a leisurely breakfast consisting of a fat stack of pancakes with way too much whipped cream, spend some time outdoors, sketch wedding dresses in the sunshine with my head in my husband’s lap, and then have dinner at home and curl up together to watch a movie.
After I’d written it, I’d laughed, because it was so different from the fast-paced, pressure-filled life I’d built for myself in the city. And then I’d cried, because I wanted itso badly.
But if Gideon had read that…it meant he’d read my application. And not only that, he’dremembered it. I blinked at him, then at my drink. “Thank you,” I croaked, and he replied with a sharp nod.
