Page 45 of Wish I Might
After work—which ended an hour later than it should have, thanks to the final walk-in—she took herself to a movie.She’d thought about dropping in at The Wild Orchid, where Chloe was tending bar and Gwen was waitressing.But Chloe would take one look at her and know she was brooding, and then she’d pry, and then she’d say I-told-you-so, and Bailey wasn’t in the mood to hear it.
So she went to a movie she didn’t want to see, ate too much stale popcorn with fake butter, and pulled into her driveway just before midnight.
Nash’s car wasn’t there.
She sat in the drive for a moment, her headlights illuminating the spot his Jeep had been in when she’d left the house that morning, and tried to battle the sudden and unwelcome flood of emotion with logic.
He was a grown man, and they weren’t in a relationship.He didn’t have to tell her when he was going out, or when he’d be back.He didn’t have to tell her anything at all, and she had absolutely no right to be upset that he wasn’t home.
Upsetwas too strong a word, but then none of the others were any better.Disappointedimplied she’d hoped he’d be there, but if that were true, she wouldn’t have spent the last three hours avoiding her own damn house on the assumption that he was.Distressedwas too close to hurt, andsadwas just so altogether unacceptable that her mind instantly rejected it.
She decided onannoyedas she shoved out of the car and stomped up the walk.She wasannoyedthat she’d spent the evening out, watching a boring movie and eating shitty popcorn that would surely give her gas, for no reason.She wasirritatedbecause she could have been home with her feet up, eating cold fried chicken and watching old episodes ofHouse Hunters International, sneering at Americans moving to Amsterdam who complain that the laundry’s in the kitchen and there’s no parking for their Cadillac Escalade.
And she wasexasperatedthat he’d told her that he hadn’t had plans, when that was clearly untrue.
Clinging to annoyed, irritated and exasperated, she let herself into the house.The living room lamp was on, casting a welcoming glow, which only served to further annoy.
The worst part was that it was her own fault.She’d had some kind of mental lapse that morning, a nostalgia-induced fit offeelingsthat was both highly inappropriate and wholly unwelcome, and because it had taken her by surprise she’d acted like a virgin with a first crush.Which wasridiculous.
She was a grown woman, dammit, and it was just sex.Good sex, granted—maybe even great sex—but sex just the same, and she was letting it twist her up.
“Fuck that,” she announced, loudly enough it echoed in the empty room.Okay, so they had history, and a connection, but she couldn’t let the emotions linked to what they’d once had influence what was happening now.
Because what they’d once had was over, and had been for a long time.And there was no getting it back.
Pain came at the thought, a quick stab under the heart, then it was gone.No, they couldn’t get it back, and neither of them could be who’d they’d been back then, even if they wanted to.
And that was just fine, because she didn’t want the then.She wanted the now, where Nash was just a friend making good on a promise, and she wasn’t in love with him anymore.
Because loving Nash had been the best thing she’d ever done, and the hardest thing she’d ever had to stop doing, and the pain of that could not be borne again.
Never again.
“Never again,” she said out loud, and with a resolute nod, turned off the living room lamp.A petty move, maybe, but it made her feel better.Then she walked through the dark, empty house with her dark, empty thoughts, and went upstairs to bed.
* * * *
Nash didn’t see Bailey on Sunday.He’d left early to meet his parents and grandparents for brunch, something they tried to do once a month, and he’d made plans with friends to bike some of the trails outside of town after.They’d gone for beers and burgers after the ride.It had been after midnight when he’d gotten home.He decided to take it as a positive sign that she’d left a light on for him this time, and though he hadn’t heard a peep out of her, he’d somehow known she was still awake.
He’d stood at the bottom of the stairs for long moments, the need to be with her warring with his better instincts.He knew that if he climbed those stairs, she wouldn’t turn him away.But he also knew it would allow her to convince herself that sex was all they had between them.
So he’d taken a shower, keenly aware that she was lying in her bed listening, and had gone to bed alone.
He didn’t sleep well, plagued by dreams that mixed the present and the past, and was groggy and out of sorts when the alarm went off the next morning.
Working from home at least meant he didn’t have to scramble to get ready.So in the boxer shorts he’d worn to bed, he shuffled out to the kitchen in hopes of caffeine.
He stumbled into one of the dining room chairs, cursed when he stubbed his toe on the table leg, then froze when he saw Bailey at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee.
The salon was closed on Mondays, so he hadn’t expected her to be up yet.But she was dressed in crisp purple shorts that matched the streaks in her hair and a white tank top, those dangerous curves on full display, and her hair in a thick French braid down her back.Her feet were bare, the toes painted to match her shorts and the streaks, and when she turned, a cup of coffee in one hand and toast with peanut butter in the other, he saw she’d added the purple contacts.
“You okay?”she asked.
“Huh?”
“Your foot.”She gestured with the toast, then took a bite.Her mouth was unpainted, still puffy from sleep, and he was suddenly very awake.
“Ah, yeah.”He flexed his foot, wincing at the stabbing pain in his big toe.“Fine.”
