Page 79 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“I thought they were, but thinking about it now, I’d have to say no. Asher was spending more and more time at work, and when he was home, he just wanted to watch sports or go to sleep.”

“So you two weren’t…” I wait for her to finish my thought.

“We were, but not as often as before. And whenever we did it, he seemed distracted, like his mind was on work.”

“When did things change?”

“It was probably around six months ago?”

“Isn’t that when you got engaged?”

“You’re right,” she says, like she just realized this. “Do you think that’s why he started acting that way? Because he was panicking over the engagement?”

“It’s possible.”

“But he proposed. It was his idea. I didn’t force him to, although I did bring up marriage a lot.” She looks at me. “I bet that was it. He didn’t want to propose. He wasn’t ready to get married, but he knew I was, so he proposed and then resented me for it and pulled away.”

“If he felt that way, he should’ve talked to you, not let you believe you were getting married.”

“I should’ve said something to him. I knew he was acting strange, but I thought he was just stressed from work. I didn’t want to think it had anything to do with us getting married. I was already planning the wedding, at least on paper. I’d printed out all these photos of floral arrangements and bridesmaid dresses and locations. I’d even picked out my dress, but something was telling me not to buy it.” She looks down at the table. “Part of me must’ve known the wedding was never going to happen.”

It sounds like their relationship hadn’t been good for a long time. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to move on with someone else, even though that thought keeps running through my head. I know it’s wrong, but I keep looking for excusesto justify what might happen later, not that anything will. But if it did, would it really be that wrong? Assuming she wanted something to happen, of course, but I get the feeling she does from the way she keeps touching me and looking at me.

We have a long, leisurely dinner, neither of us in a rush to leave because we’re really enjoying ourselves. The food is exceptional, the conversation flows easily, and I’m loving the view of Trina across from me. I can’t believe how different she looks tonight. I thought she was pretty before, but tonight she looks elegant and sophisticated, and she carries herself differently. Getting all dressed up has given her a new level of confidence that I’m finding to be incredibly sexy.

“Ready to get out of here?” I say after I’ve paid the check.

“What’s next?”

“Something I think you’ll really like.”

I get up and pull her chair out, then offer her my hand. She takes it as she stands up and keeps hold of it as we leave the restaurant. She’s not drunk anymore, but it’s probably best if I hold her hand so she doesn’t fall in those heels.

“Wait, is this…” Trina’s eyes widen when we arrive outside the gallery. She turns to me. “How did you get tickets?”

I shrug. “I know a guy.”

She lunges at me, hugging me and taking me by complete surprise. “This is amazing! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

I knew she’d be excited, but not this excited. This gallery has a special weekend exhibit of fashion photography from the past 50 years, along with live models wearing iconic fashions from different eras. The tickets were very limited and sold out quickly. Bella, one of my clients, is friends with someone who works at the gallery, and when she mentioned this event, I immediately thought of Trina. I asked Bella to get me tickets, thinking I’d givethem to Trina and she could take a friend, but then we planned this fake date and I decided to take her myself.

She lets me go and gives me a huge smile, her whole face lit up. “You have no idea how much I wanted to see this! I’m obsessed with fashion photography. Growing up, I’d print out photos and frame them and put them on my wall.”

“Then it’s good I got tickets.” I take her hand. “Let’s go inside.”

There’s a tiny woman standing at the door, wearing a black suit with feathers around the neckline and huge glasses with thick black frames.

“Tickets, please,” she says. I pull up the tickets on my phone for her to scan. “Enjoy the exhibit.”

As we go into the gallery, a man approaches us with a tray of champagne. Trina and I each take a glass.

“They have champagne!” Trina squeals, turning to me. “Let’s toast.”

“To what?”

“New beginnings. Well, for me, not you.”

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