Page 46 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

But neither of us moves immediately. Our eyes remain fixed on each other, his gray on my hazel. A breath or two later, he gestures lightly toward the elevators. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget what I came to do. Go on, shoo, save the children.”

I smile despite myself and head back toward the doors with a spring in my step. What I don’t say is that I’m meeting Nate for lunch. Partly it’s timing. Dropping that information in the middle of a hospital hallway feels like lighting a match beside an oxygen tank. Nathan would keep his voice calm, but the temperature in the room would change fast.

Partly it’s pride. I can handle one conversation with my ex without running it past the man I slept with last night. And partly it’s simple curiosity. I’d like to hear what Nate thinks he has left to say.

The rest of the morning moves fast after that.

Lunch trays roll out, monitors beep steadily, and the hallway fills with the usual mix of parents asking careful questions and nurses juggling three things at once. I finish a chart, walk a nervous mother through a dosage schedule, and help a little girl decorate her cast with glitter pens that will probably haunt housekeeping later.

By the time I check the clock again, it’s almost one.

I sign the last chart at the nurses’ station, grab my bag from the locker room, and step outside into the midday rush. The café is two blocks away.

It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here with Nate. Same chalkboard menu, same tiny tables pressed too close together, same smell of coffee and toasted bread drifting out the open door.

I take a table near the window and check my phone. 12:57 p.m.

He said one.

At 1:05 p.m. he still hasn’t arrived.

At 1:07 p.m., the door opens and Nate walks in like someone dragged him here by the collar.

He looks tired and irritated, his shoulders slouched under a wrinkled button-down. His eyes sweep the room until they land on me, and something dark flickers across his face before he crosses the café.

He drops into the chair across from me without greeting. “Well,” he says, leaning back like this entire meeting is an inconvenience. “You look comfortable.”

I fold my hands on the table. “You’re late.”

“Five minutes,” he mutters. “Relax.”

A server passes by and sets a glass of water in front of him. Nate doesn’t even look up. His attention stays fixed on me. “So,” he says slowly. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

I frown at him. “My what?”

“Your lesson,” he repeats, waving a hand between us. “Storming off. Acting like you’re too good to deal with problems.”

My mouth curls. “You cheated on me, and I’m supposed to be learning lessons?”

“Jesus,” he snaps. “You’re still stuck on that?”

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “That was three weeks ago. It’s not exactly a history lesson yet, is it?” Crossing my arms, I look away from him and at the door. “You asked to meet me. If this is your apology tour, it’s not off to a great start.”

His lips press into a thin, bloodless line. I can’t for the life of me remember why I ever thought it was a good idea to waste so much of myself on this guy. “I didn’t come here to apologize.”

“That’s clear.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look different.”

“Different how?”

“Relaxed,” he says, the word sounding almost accusing. “Like you’ve moved on already.”

I shrug, although a ripple of unease runs up my spine. “People tend to do that.”

“From a four-year relationship?”

“From being cheated on,” I correct. “Yes.”