Page 28 of Body Check

She chuckles. “Yeah, I could tell. What about you? You into baseball?”

I shrug. “I mean, I support all Boston sports. But unless it’s a specific matchup, I’m not usually watching. Was kind of busy last summer.”

“Right. With the divorce and all.”

Wincing, I say, “You heard about that?”

“I’m sorry.” She cocks her head. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?”

“Eh. I’m not sorry. It needed to end. We had nothing to say to each other anymore.”

“Still. It must be difficult.”

“It’s over.” The finality in my tone makes her blink, and I clear my throat. “I don’t think about her anymore. We aren’t in contact. I’m moving on.”

She already has. We sold the house, and Harper moved in with her new guy before the ink on the divorce decree dried.

“Amelia!” The shop clerk holds out two heavy bags and another calls out, “Jason!”

“Need help carrying that?” I ask as I take my tiny little sandwich bag.

Her eyes flash. “Why? Because I’m a woman and obviously⁠—”

“Because those bags are full, and the straps don’t look strong enough to support their weight,” I snap back.

She blinks.

“Besides, we’re basically going to the same place.”

Our apartments are three blocks away.

“Fine. If you insist.” Scowling, she hands over one bag, keeping the other for herself.

“Give me both. I can handle it.”

She grumbles under her breath, but she does as I ask. Such a brat. We trade until she’s holding my little bag, and I’m carrying her two bulging bags.

“After you.”

We walk in silence for a block and a half before she turns to me.

“Thanks,” Amelia says, so quietly I almost think I imagined it.

“Any time.” I adjust the weight of the bagels in my grasp. “What are you doing with so many bagels? Do you freeze them?”

“We’re having bagel brunch.” She pauses. “Do you… would you like to join us?”

“Sure.” It’s not like I have anything better to do with my Sunday.

And secretly, I’m dying to get to know her, to find out what makes her tick.

Acting on this attraction is a bad idea, but I can fantasize in the privacy of my head all I want. Nobody has to know.

A doorman opens the front door, and Amelia scans a fob at the turnstile, granting us access to the elevator bank. She punches the button for the nineteenth floor.

“You totally don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” she says as the elevator hurtles upward. “I don’t want to pressure you into it.”

“You’re not.” My chuckle sounds forced. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to stay, I’d have no problem heading home.”