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We’d talked about marriage and kids when we were together, but that was mostly because I’d been fast approaching thirty and less because I was jazzed about the idea of either of those things with him.
“Um, well, I’m not engaged and I’m not pregnant so I’m pretty sure that's a topic of discussion for the future and not right now.”
He set my drink down in front of me with a little more force than necessary, the sound of the glass clacking against the table loud enough to make me flinch.
“I always got the impression that you were a family woman,” he said. “At least until you backed out of our engagement without so much as a word. I didn’t appreciate how you handled things Nicky. You could have just talked to me.”
I wanted to scream out ‘When?!’ because Ihadtried to talk to him and he’d worked around everything to make it seem like my concerns and wants didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry that the move made you feel pressured. I’m back now, and we can pick up where we left off. I shouldn’t have to move again, and my mom’s finally moved back here too, so you’ll finally be able to meet her.”
“I feel like I missed out on a rather important conversation.”
He quirked his head, pulling out a loaf of bread and a container of eggs from the fridge. “What do you mean?”
“Why would you think I'd want to get back together?”
“I thought you coming on this date was you agreeing to restart our relationship. Your mom was very clear when I talked to her that you haven’t dated anyone else since I moved away. Whywouldn’tyou want to pick things up again? It’s not like you’re drowning in opportunities, and you’re over thirty now.”
“I think I should probably go.” No sense giving him any more ideas than he’d already fabricated for himself.
“You’re here for breakfast. I’ve gone through the trouble of picking up all of this food. I’m going to prepare it for you, and then you’re going to appreciate it. Okay?”
I should’ve fought to bring my own car. We were in a pretty new development. How long would it take a cab to get here? My phone buzzed again, and Alphonse slapped the frying pan down onto the stove.
“I’m getting a little tired of your disrespect, Nicky. Turn that off and engage me in a real conversation so this isn’t a complete waste of my time. I don’t know why I even thought youdeserveda chance. You’re making a terrible case for our re-engagement.”
My breath froze in my throat. I turned my phone to silent rather than turning it off and typed a hasty SOS without looking.
Okay. I knew this mood. I could placate him until I got out of here…
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Can I help you make food?”
That finally seemed to relax him. He pulled a pair of plates out of the cupboard and set them on the counter along with two sets of cutlery. “Set the table. I’ll give you a tour after breakfast so you know where everything is.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I just nodded along and put the place settings on the table. I put us on opposite ends rather than right next to each other to give myself a fraction of distance.
I focused on my breathing to keep myself calm. He was just being a little snippy. That wasn’t unusual for him at all. The moment things didn’t go his way it came out in his attitude.
It wasfine.
Everything was fine.
If I thought otherwise, I would cry, and he’d always hated it when I cried. Apparently it ‘made the conversation all about me’ when I did.
The scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the battered bread hitting the pan made me ache for the pack.
I ate quickly once he set the food in front of me.
“Someone's hungry. I didn’t know you liked French toast so much. I’ll have to be sure to keep the ingredients on hand.”
My meal sat like a lead ball in my gut.
Once he had finished eating, he directed me to the living room where we both sank into the plush leather couch, and he turned on the TV.
“There's a great documentary on modern Paris I want you to see.”
Well, that sounded like athrilla minute.
