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Captivated, I stare at him. Who is this normally stoic and quiet man in front of me? Since meeting him, I’ve felt that he has a story to tell, but it’s just now starting to dawn on me that he has so much more depth to him than I thought. Depth that he hides away from the world. Just like his vulnerabilities.
“I didn’t realize you were so observant.”
“I might not say much, but I see a lot, especially when I’m looking.”
What does he mean by that? I peer into his eyes, trying to discern if there’s a deeper meaning behind his words. His eyes don’t give anything away, his stare steady on me, so I shrug it off, deciding I’m just trying to overcomplicate things—attribute meanings to things that aren’t there.
“What’s the question again?”
“Why have you stopped smiling?”
“I smile all the time.”
“Stop deflecting. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Things have been a bit difficult at home.”
“With your husband?” he prompts when I don’t continue.
I nod, swallowing heavily. “I don’t think he loves me anymore.”
This is the second time I’ve admitted it in the span of a few days, and it hurts just as much as the first time. He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to say anything, and the silence becomes unbearable, ratcheting up my discomfort. We haven’t known each other long, and I know he asked, but still, I’m embarrassed that I’ve unloaded on him.
My smile is stiff. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, don’t apologize. I insisted. It’s just…” His voice tapers off, but I can see his mind working as if he’s working through what he wants to say. “I find that extremely hard to believe.”
My boy stiffens at his implication that I’m lying.
“You’re beautiful. Smart. Funny. You have a healthy appetite.” His grin is damn cheeky with that last one. “I cannot conceive your husband not loving you.”
“I’m all that?” I say, trying to sound casual despite my racing heart.
His nod is offhand like he’s just stating a fact and not giving me a compliment. So simple and casual, but to me, it means everything. When last has someone made me feel like I was any of those things?
“Tell me about him.”
“Quinn?” I ask, stalling. I’ve answered Kallan’s question, and now I find I don’t want to talk about Quinn anymore. I don’t want thoughts or words of him intruding into this moment. It feels as if our current situation is souring every part of my life, and I want to keep this moment for myself.
“How long have you known him?”
“Always,” I say, shrugging. “He’s been in my life for as long as I can remember.”
“And how long have you been together?”
“Always,” I say again, watching his face fold into a frown. “I’ve never been with anyone but Quinn.”
The waitress arrives to deliver the food I’ve completely forgotten we’d ordered, and when she leaves, Kallan’s still frowning.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised.”
“Well, you look like you have certain thoughts on that,” I say, a bit defensively, remembering my words to Hannah.
“Bailey, I’m not judging. I’m the last person whohasthe right to judge anyone. But I’m not going to lie, if what you said is true—about your husband not loving you—he’s the biggest fool on the planet.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
