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I looked past his shoulders to the open hangar door as a surge of anger rose inside me. “Jack said something about an auction. He said you guys were going to Modesto or somewhere.”
Aaron walked across the room to where a desk, disguised as a mountain of paperwork, sat. A huge calendar hung above it with notes in multiple colors scrawled all over the boxes. It was to the point that there was barely any white space showing through the mess. Aaron dragged a finger along the glossy surface and came away shaking his head. “Nope. Not on the calendar. Maybe he was thinking of next Sunday. I was gonna steal him for a run to LA.”
I pasted on a placid smile and tossed my long blonde ponytail over my shoulder. “That’s probably what it was.”
“You wanna leave him a note or something?” Aaron offered.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. Just let him know I look forward to seeing him at dinner.”
Aaron gave me a strange look but nodded as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “You got it.”
I turned away, tugging at the leashes in my hand. “And tell that gorgeous fiancée of yours that we need to get together soon!”
Aaron smiled—the same giddy look he always got whenever Gemma was brought up in conversation—and waved. “Will do. See you later, Holls.”
“Bye, guys,” I replied, waving at Aaron and Nick before leaving the shop.
Hours later, the smell of ricotta cheese and fresh marinara sauce swirled together with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked garlic bread as I poured my frustration into making a homemade feast of ravioli. Not that Jack deserved it. My anger at his lie had faded over the afternoon and at some point, I’d decided it would be better to channel my energy into making him the best dinner of his life and reminding him why it was nice to come home for dinner.
But even as I lost myself in the process, I couldn’t move past the idea that he lied to me and if I hadn’t gone to the museum and talked to Aaron, he’d be off somewhere by himself for dinner. And why? If given a choice to be home or be off by himself for the night, why would he choose to be alone? Were things that bad between us? And why lie about it?
There was one dark and disturbing theory brewing in the back of my mind, but I refused to give it much attention. Throughout our relationship, I’d been diligent in keeping my history from influencing my current reality. I’d already been divorced once before and struggled to keep my haunting past from damaging my chances at my happily ever after. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jack was nothing like my ex-husband, but the lie was starting to chip away at the wall of security and trust I’d painstakingly built around us.
The timer on the oven went off, signaling the bread was done and jolted me from my mental wanderings. I shoved my hands into a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door. Moments later, the front door shut and Princess and Hunter started howling. A flicker of panic washed over me but I shoved it down and fixed a pleasant smile on my face as I set the steaming bread on the island.
Jack appeared, still in his jacket. “Smells good in here. I could smell the bread halfway up the street.” Princess and Hunter danced around his feet and he sighed. “Come on, guys.” He threw open the back door and they raced outside into the backyard.
“I thought I’d do something special since we haven’t had dinner together in a while,” I said calmly. I went to the stove and stirred the sauce as it simmered in a large stock pot. “Did Aaron tell you I stopped by?”
Jack moved to the counter and planted his hands on the smooth surface. He sagged forward and exhaled long and hard. “Holly, listen—”
I whipped around, the spoon still in my hand. “Don’t. Please. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Jack pushed off the counter and shrugged out of his jacket. “I got my dates mixed up. That’s all.”
Tears blurred my vision as I turned back to the sauce on the stove. I flicked the burner off and set the wooden spoon in the rest between the two back burners. “You’d tell me, right?”
“Tell you what?”
I steeled myself with a deep breath and then slowly turned around. I met Jack’s dark eyes and searched for a sign of the light and glow that used to be there when he saw me. The memory of the photo on my desk struck another blow and the tears built back up again. “You’d tell me if you didn’t want to do this,” I said, barely able to raise my voice above a scratchy whisper. “You’d tell me if you didn’t want to get married.”
