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“I thought we could talk about last night.”
“What about last night?” I want him to spell it out for me. I want him to admit every single thing he’s done.
“Please, Bailey,” he whispers, his red-rimmed eyes dropping to the coffee. “Just take it,” he says, nudging it towards me again. I stare at it as if it contains poison. Taking a cup of coffee that someone offers you is such a normal thing to do, but somehow this feels like more. As if by taking it, I’m giving in, backing down, capitulating to his wishes and desires, and I refuse to do it. Fuck him, and fuck that cup of coffee.
“You know what?” I say, throwing up my hands to stop him. “You drink it. I don’t want anything you made for me.” I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t do this now. I have to get to work.”
I spin around and power towards the bedroom. I have this overwhelming urge to get out. To run until I can’t run anymore. I should have just kept on driving last night.
“Bailey, wait. Don’t leave like this. I want to explain. Last night isn’t what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, so you didn’t forget about our anniversary?” I throw over my shoulder. “I didn’t find you in your office with another woman? I dreamed all that?”
His shoulders sag, and he hangs his head. He has no words.
“That’s what I thought. Despite what you think, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Life carries on. I need to open the store.
*****
All day, I make a conscious effort not to talk to anyone. Olivia tries when she gets in, no doubt ready to ask how our dinner went, but I cut her off, asking her to man the counter for the day before shutting myself in my office. I keep my head down, focusing on stacking a new delivery of books, sorting them into different categories, and pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. Sometime around lunch, my exhaustion drives me to the front, my need for coffee eclipsing my need for solitude.
Waiting for my coffee, I shiver, rubbing my arms. I don’t know why I’m so damn cold. It’s still summer, for fuck’s sake.
“I hope you’re not coming down with something,” Olivia says, a concerned frown on her face. I know I don’t look the best. I slapped on a minimal amount of makeup this morning, my need to get out of that apartment far greater than my need to look good.
“I don’t think so. Just a bad night’s sleep is all.”
“Did Quinn keep you up all night?” she teases.
“You could say that.” Just not for the reason you’re suggesting. I know my smile is feeble, but I can’t muster any more effort than that.
I’ve almost made it back to my office, coffee in hand when the bell jingles and Kallan walks in. The sight of him is enough to stop me in my tracks, a thousand different emotions bubbling in my stomach.
He smiles when he sees me, but it quickly dims as his eyes rove over my face. His long legs eat up the distance between us, and between one breath and the next, he’s standing in front of me.
“What’s wrong?”
How is it that with one look, this man whom I’ve only known for a few months can tell that my world is falling apart? I want to cry. I want to scream that no, I’m not okay. I want him to wrap me in his arms and give me the comfort and support that my husband’s supposed to give me. And it’s that thought that makes me take a step back and force a smile on my face. He’s not my husband; he’s my friend. While I know there’s nothing wrong with accepting comfort from friends, the problem is—I don’t feel attraction towards my friends.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just a bit tired today.”
“Bailey.”
It’s one word—my name, but the way he says it is a reproach, letting me know that he knows I’m lying. It makes me feel bad. The last thing I want to do is lie to him, but I just can’t talk about it.
“I used my car, so you’re off the hook today,” I tease instead, hoping he’ll let it go.
He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “You know I enjoy walking with you.”
“I know.”
Our little ritual has become a comfort to me over the months and I think to him as well. I was just too exhausted this morning to even contemplate walking.
*****
Quinn’s waiting for me when I get home. He’s been messaging me relentlessly all day, starting almost the moment I got to work.
I’ve called in sick. I’ll be here when you get home.
