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He’s jealous of a hypothetical future husband while planning to take out a very non-hypothetical woman tomorrow night. What gives him the fucking right?

“He’ll be so good at it,” I reply with a bitter smile. “I won’t even have to ask.”

He stops suddenly, in the middle of the produce section. “I’m leaving,” he says, fury stamped on every feature of his face.

I stare at him in shock. This is what I wanted, and now I also…don’t want him to go. “What?”

“You heard me. Call your widowed veterinarian and have him tell you a bunch of patronizing shit about how to live your life better. See how well you like it.”

And then he heads out the door, leaving me behind.

I stand frozen for a moment before I walk stiffly toward the exit, barely holding myself together. I put the cart back, but by the time I reach the elevator, I’m crying. My sadness feels ancient, as if these are tears I should have cried years ago, yet they’ve got nothing to do with Kyle.

It’s Ben, and how disappointed I am that after two years of wanting him, he’s breaking my heart, just the way I knew he would.

It’s nearly two a.m. and I’ve cried myself to sleep when I hear a key in the door.

Ben enters the room, taking slow steps toward the side of the bed. In the dim light, he seems exhausted, his shirt untucked and wrinkled, circles under his eyes. He strips down to his boxers and climbs in beside me, pulling me against him. He smells like bourbon. I know I’m being weak, letting him stay. It was weak to ever allow this to begin in the first place. I just want one last night of pretending he’s mine.

“I’m crazy about you, Gemma,” he whispers against the top of my head. “I don’t want to be, but I am.”

My hands slide over his back, memorizing the feel of him, his shoulders blades, his spine, the breadth of him. My God, he’s so perfect I want to weep.

It’s not just an expression. I do want to weep. I’m struggling not to. I roll away, letting him tuck me tight to his chest.

“Then don’t go tomorrow night,” I whisper. I’m begging and it’s fucking pathetic, but I can’t help myself. “Please just don’t go.”

I wait for him to answer. To apologize, to tell me he made a mistake and swear he’ll fix it.

Instead, his breathing just grows deep and even as sleep overtakes him.

39

I’m sick to my stomach as I head to the office on Saturday. Ben stumbled out early, unhappy again and oddly quiet, seeming to regret he came over at all. I wanted to ask for my key back but I just couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t get the words out without bursting into tears.

I meet Keeley and her newest boytoy at a bar that night. I don’t like the guy and I don’t like his friends, either, but it would be hard to focus on much tonight anyway, given the circumstances.

Ben is at Ardor by now. I wonder if he’s asking her if Malbec’s okay, if they’re talking as easily and animatedly as we did. If he’ll whisper, “maybe I just want to be someone you trust” when he kisses her. I thought it was different with us, that I wasn’t like every other woman he takes out. I now have no idea why.

“Give me your phone,” Keeley says, draining her glass and setting it on the table. “I’m finding you a date.”

I blink. “I don’t want a date, Keeley.”

“The first thing to do when you fall off a horse is climb back on. Ben wasn’t what you wanted anyway.”

I nod, but she’s wrong. I’m pretty sure he was exactly what I wanted, even if it took getting hurt to recognize it, even if I knew better.

“You’re welcome,” she says, handing me my phone.

“What did you just do?” I demand.

She waves a hand at me. “It’s just coffee. You don’t have to bang him…although you probably should.”

My jaw falls open. Going out with a stranger is the last thing I want to do, especially right now.

“Gemma,” she says softly, “think about it. How are you going to stand to work with Ben all week, knowing he’s moved on if you haven’t at least tried to move on too?”

And I still desperately want to tell her to cancel it…but she isn’t wrong.