Page 50 of My Ex's Best Friend

Once we reach home, Kiera practically storms out of the car and heads straight for the entrance without sparing me a single glance. The door to her suite slams shut with a force that echoes down the corridor.

I run my hand through my hair in frustration. What a mess I’ve made of things, and only because I was thinking with my dick.

I pace around my room, thinking about the events of tonight.

Kiera is right. I acted like a total dick, and I blew up a great opportunity because I couldn’t think straight. Because I was jealous of an older man, for Christ’s sake.

I need to make things right, or the situation is just going to escalate.

After giving her some time to cool off, I decide to make amends. I head to a nearby boulangerie to pick up some food, hoping a gesture of peace might thaw the frost between us.

I know she can’t say no to some Parisian baguettes.

13

KIERA

"I can't believe he acted like that. What was he even thinking? And why am I so mad?" I mutter to myself, my frustration mounting with every step across the room.

I can’t tell if I’m more offended that he insinuated that Mr. Richards was hitting on me, or the way he acted following those assumptions.

“That’s ridiculous.”

The guy was just trying to make a friendly conversation. Besides, his taste in art is unique. It’s probably not every day he can talk about Brugghen.

Every step I take feels like a ticking time bomb, my thoughts bouncing off the walls of my mind. I don’t even know why I’m having such an intense reaction or why we even started fighting in the first place.

When I cannot hold it in anymore, I beeline for the door.

I need to talk to him, shake some sense into him.

I yank the door open and… there he is, standing right outside my door. He’s so close that I almost run face-first into him, and I have to skid to a halt to not barrel right into him.

The scent of fresh pastries wafts through the air, and for a moment, my anger wavers as confusion takes its place.

He offers a small, conciliatory smile, holding out the bag of pastries along with a bottle of wine, while his other arm nurses two glasses. "I thought you might be hungry. Figured some French treats might help."

“Is that a bribe?” I hope he can’t hear my stomach groan.

Did he go out to get me the pastries and wine?

“Maybe,” he says. “Did it work.”

When I don’t say anything, he says, "Can we please talk?"

I nod, reluctantly stepping back into my room, and he follows suit.

The room feels small, the air thick with unresolved tension.

I cross my arms, waiting for him to make the first move.

Jake runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that contradicts his usual composed demeanor. "I know things got heated back there. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know, but it still stung."

He sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting mine again. "I'm not good at this, Kiera. Opening up, explaining myself. But I want to make things right."

My anger softens, replaced by a sense of weariness. "Then start talking, Jake. What was that all about?"

---