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I opened my eyes, spun on the balls of my feet, and made my way back into the bar. More people had joined them on the dance floor, cheering and clapping. The song was over. And I was glad I missed it.
“That’s not their first dance, but what do you think, Maddy? Do I need to sing that at your wedding?” Elliot asked, his voice booming over the crowd's cheers. Madeline skipped to the stage, waving her hand down for Elliot. Elliot left the mic and leaned down to let her whisper something in his ear. He laughed, lifting his chin in the air before giving Madeline a quick kiss on the cheek. “In case you want to know, she said yes.”
I gave a slight smile. Of course, she said yes. I sat at the table, running my fingers over the stem of the glass, watching as Clay and Jamie made their way back. Jamie was holding onto Clay’s arm, but when his eyes caught mine, I saw the same look Milo had given Madeline.
Chapter Fifteen
-Clay-
“W
hat did you do?” Milo asked a few days later as I cracked the egg on the burner.
“What do you mean?” I played dumb. I knew exactly what he was talking about.
Two days ago, I picked up Ophelia. She looked amazing. We spent time and laughed together. . . then I was ignored for the rest of the night. She looked pissed when I got back to the table after a quick dance with Jamie, but as the night went on, she laughed and smiled with Madeline, all but leaving me in the dust. I clearly upset her, but my dumb ass didn’t know how to make it better.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Milo mumbled, reading my mind.
“Hey, can I borrow the truck tonight? Dinner with my parents, which, as always, you’re welcome to come to.” I quickly changed the subject, not wanting the third degree from him.
Could I have reached out to Ophelia and made things better? Sure. Did I want to? Yes. Was I mortified to? Also yes. What would I have said to make the situation better?
Hey, sorry to have danced with Jamie and totally thrown off your night. It didn't mean anything. It was just a dance.
Nothing I could have said would have turned this sucky situation better again. There was simply no going back. So, I chose the coward’s way and just let it be.
I turned back to the eggs and flipped them, watching the yolk crack, swearing a bit under my breath.
“You know you can; actually, I may join you. Madeline is busy tonight with wedding stuff, and I haven't seen your parents in a while.” Milo walked into the kitchen, grabbing a coffee mug and humming at my egg in the pan as he leaned against the counter. “Now seriously, what did you do?”
I shrugged. “I just really made her mad.”
“This is what, the forth time?” he asked, bringing his mug to his lips.
“If we’re counting the break-up, I think so.”
“I’m counting it, aren't you?”
“I’d rather not,” I grumbled.It would be better to strike it from the record completely. Act as if it never existed. “Do you think she is?” I asked sheepishly.
“You proposed and then a week later dumped her for a job. I’m no expert, but I’d say she still hangs on to it, especially after being forced to spend time with you. Madeline tells me she’s fine, but. . .” Taking a sip of his coffee, he paused, cocking one shoulder. “She’s always been good about moving on.”
I nodded, turning off the burner and transferring my egg to the piece of toast.
“What time is dinner?” Milo shoved himself off the counter.
“Six. My mom is making shepherd’s pie.”
“Perfect.”
Milo was instantly wrapped in a bear hug by my mother the moment we walked in the door. She had to be updated on all the wedding details, loving how he and Madeline had finally found their happily ever after. I gave Milo a small wave and headed into the kitchen, seeing my dad at the table, a book in hand with Grim already at his feet, waiting for his table scraps.
“No wonder that cat is so fat. Mom feeds him from the table, huh?” I asked, pulling a seat out to sit across from my dad.
He looked up at me from his large glasses, shifting just a little in his seat to place the bookmark back in his novel, gently setting it on the table.
“Of Mice and Menagain?” I asked, motioning my chin toward the thin paperback in his hands. His favorite, no doubt. He reads it at least once a year.
