Page 15 of The Wedding Menu

Except what?

When no answer comes, I set my phone on the coffee table and slip into my pajamas, then enter the bathroom and brush my teeth.

I’m pretty sure he’ll answer at some point. Maybe he’s trying to make me beg for it. He wants me to send him a hundred messages asking him to explain what the hell “Except…” means. He must be laughing at his screen right now, taking his sweet time answering.

I glance at the dark living room, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. The temptation to check my phone is strong, but I won’t play his games. I don’t need to. My boyfriend is in bed, and all I truly desire after such a long day in heels is to curl up beside him and fall asleep to the rising and falling of his chest.

Once I turn the corridor light off and walk to the bedroom, Frank’s heavy breathing is the only noise in the apartment. Fitting under the blanket next to him, I inhale his comforting smell of pine and sandalwood, the aftershave I got him on his last birthday. He doesn’t wake up when I kiss the tip of his nose, only moves a little.

With a satisfied exhale, I rest my head on the fluffy pillow and close my eyes.

Except… that’s not why you asked for my number.

Maybe that’s what Ian will say. Well, to that I’ll say he’s a cocky idiot. Or I’ll block him. Problem solved.

Except I know you work as a chef and that’s why I brought the cake up? Except I could see how much fun you had with me? Except I could tell my weird-ass opinions made me irresistible in your eyes?

What the hell is he going to say?

With a grunt, I push the blanket away and head to the living room.

He texted.

I sit down on the couch and rub a hand over my face. I shouldn’t look. If I read it six minutes after he sent it, I’ll make him think I’m interested. And I’m not.

“Fuck me,” I say, unlocking the phone. I need to know. My heart’s beating out of my chest in anticipation.

There’s a screenshot. It’s my contact.Beautiful, with a red heart. He saved my number.

Amelie:

So? You can save my number as “wife number three” for all I care. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not interested.

Ian:

You’re missing the point.

When you asked for my number, you didn’t know I lied. But when you texted me, you knew. Yet you texted anyway.

And now I have your number.

Ian:

Good morning, Amelie.

I think I was promised the name of a bakery?

I drop my phone on the counter and continue whisking the eggs. It’s Sunday, the sun is shining bright, and I found an excellent ’90s playlist I’m currently dancing to. Though I have to work later today, I’m looking forward to spending some time with Frank before that. It’ll be a great day.

“Good morning,” Frank says, entering the kitchen.

I turn to him with a full smile, showing off my wifely apron. “Good morning, love.”

When my lips softly graze his, he steps back, his chestnut-brown eyes softening from behind his thick glasses. “Looks like you’re in a good mood.”

I am, though I understand his surprise. The last words we said to each other before I left for Barb’s wedding weren’t kind, and I don’t usually get over our fights without some sort of reconciliation.

Of course, all that went out the window when I found out Iaccidentallygave my number to a guy who turned out to be hitting on me. The bastard made me an involuntary part of a sketchy situation.

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