I’m shaking now, and Zach’s expression shifts. I can’t look at him, so I draw my gaze down, noticing him stopping himself from reaching out to me. That stupid honeycomb tattoo taunts me again. Flaunting the fact that this perfect man is so sure about us, he’s marked his skin with me.
Why would he want to be marked with a girl who can’t figure out what she wants?
My breathing is shaky. My dignity is gone. My heart is somewhere on the floor between us, and I don’t have the courage to stick around and hear his response.
“I need to go,” I say. “I have a spa appointment.”
He follows me to the door, holding it open when I reach it. He’s not asking me to stay; he never has.
I step through it without looking back, because if I do, I won’t go.
You haven’t gone anywhere.
My fists clench as I march through the hallway, avoiding anyone who looks remotely calm right now. Hard to do when you’re walking toward a damn spa.
I burst through the heavy glass doors, my body still on high alert from everything I said to Zach, but then I stop.
Everyone turns to look at my dramatic entrance. Guests in their spa robes look shocked. The girl behind the desk is calling for help, and I look like I’m about to either demand a hostage negotiator or start flipping massage tables. Neither one is the vibe I’m going for.
“Um, hi there, can I check you in?” the girl behind the desk asks.
I drop my hands and tie the knot in my robe a little tighter. “Um, yes,” I say, clearing my throat, offering her a more pleasant smile this time. Then I take several steps toward her. “I’m Honey Sanderson. I have a full spa day booked.”
As she taps on her computer to find my reservation, I look over my shoulder, and thankfully, the calm I interrupted has slowly returned to normal.
Relax, Honey.
“Fantastic, Miss Sanderson. I have your reservation right here, and I just wanted to say congratulations.”
Her smile is bright and genuine.
“For?”
“Your baby.” She looks down at my stomach before pushing a clipboard with a pen in my direction. “Since you’re pregnant, we’ll need to go through a waiver with you.”
“Pregnant? I’m not—” I swallow down my pride. “I think the booking is incorrect. My friend Olivia is pregnant, but she couldn’t make the journey. I’m not pregnant. I’m not even dating—” I don’t finish that sentence.
Her smile doesn’t waver. She just nods and makes a small note on her tablet.
“Of course, my apologies for the confusion. Let me update the booking.” She taps away. “You're all set, Miss Sanderson. Your therapist will be ready in about thirty minutes. Please help yourself to the pretreatment lounge.” She gestures toward the open doors. “Can I get you anything? Water, tea?”
“Water,” I say. “Please. Thank you.”
I take the glass and turn away from the desk before I can say anything else embarrassing.
Not pregnant.
No, that’s just my best friend, Olivia. The one who has her life together. She’s married, glowing, and currently growing an actual human being with the man she loves.
Meanwhile, I’m here.
Alone.
Not that I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself about it. The man I just stormed into and yelled at would have given me all of that years ago if I’d said yes to even one of his countless proposals.
A husband. A home. A future.
Zach would have handed it to me with both hands.
