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I let my gaze flick upward right before I step out the door, almost smiling at the mistletoe and how very, very differently my night has gone than I planned.
Kelly Byrne’s Ex List: Version Five
Jack Chance
Joey Russo
Chad Morrister
Doug Porter
Stephen Hill: God, man, please be cool. Or at least decent.
December 18, Monday Night
“I’ll drive you home.” Mark’s voice is quiet, just like the night around us. It’s in the teens tonight with a bitter wind, and everyone’s at home in front of the fire or cozied up in one of Haven’s restaurants or bars.
“Nah, my car’s parked around back,” I say, digging around in my purse until I come up with my gloves.
“I’ll drive you.”
I look up in surprise. Not so much at him being bossy—that’s nothing new, and usually I ignore it. But there’s something else in his voice. And on his face, too, I see, as I take in his expression.
He doesn’t want to drive me home for me. Or at least that’s not entirely it. He looks…alone. But like he doesn’t want to be.
“I’ll bring you back tomorrow for your car,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, bracing his shoulders against the wind.
“Okay, sure,” I say softly. “Where you parked?”
“Back at the restaurant.”
I try not to wince. Cedar and Salt is several blocks over and the temperature seems to be dropping by the second. But if I’m going to die of the cold, I want it to be with this guy, so I smile and shrug.
I tuck my arm in his, and he lets me. We walk in silence for a few moments before I say what needs to be said. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For being there.”
He looks down at me for a long moment. And instead of saying the well-deserved I told you so, he reaches down, takes my hand, and squeezes it.
The gesture’s so unexpected and out of character that my eyes water. I squeeze back and glance up at his profile, which is hard and stony in the night shadows. “Why’d you hit him?”
I feel Mark’s shrug, and he tugs his hand away. “Like you said. He’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, but…I’ve never seen you hit anyone before.”
Another shrug. “Never thought anyone else deserved it.”
“Because he cheated on me?” I ask softly as we approach his truck.
“Yup.” His voice is curt in the way it is when there’s more to something and he doesn’t want me to pry.
I touch his arm as we get to the passenger door of the truck. It’s time for a very overdue conversation. “You knew that he cheated on me.”
He looks away.
“Mark.”
