Page 108 of About that Fling
She turned and ran from the restaurant.
Chapter 15
“Jenna, wait!”
Adam was breathing hard by the time he caught up to her on a street corner three blocks from the restaurant. He watched her hesitate, then turn to see him chasing her down, determined to—what, exactly?
He didn’t know.
She froze, rooted in place, coiled with an energy that told him she was on the brink of running again. “Adam, stop.”
He halted beside her, breathless and caught somewhere between hurt and frustration. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes flashed in the hazy light of a street lamp, and she looked like she wanted to be anyplace but here with him. “Go back inside,” she whispered. “I just—I need a minute alone.”
“You could get a minute alone in the bathroom. You’re escaping. Running. In high heels, for God’s sake. You’re going to break an ankle, Jenna.”
She looked down at her boots as though noticing them for the first time. “So you chased me down the street to make fun of my shoes?”
“No.” He was still breathing hard, still baffled by what had unfolded back there. “I chased you down the street because I want to understand what just happened.”
He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. “You want answers. So does everyone in that room, Adam. I can’t give them to you.”
“Running away isn’t the answer. Hiding isn’t going to get you anywhere.” He cringed, hating the patronizing tone in his voice. Apparently, so did Jenna.
“So what are you, some sort of expert on coping strategies?”
“Kind of. It’s one of my areas of specialty, actually.”
Her jaw clenched and she looked away. “It figures. I’m sure you can plot out my behavior on a chart, figure out why I’m as fucked up as I am.” Her gaze swung back to his and Adam was struck by how much she looked like a cornered animal. “Go ahead, Adam. Judge me. Tell me all the psychological reasons I create this whole mixed-up mess of lies and deceit and cover-ups.”
“I’m not judging you, Jenna,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice calm and even. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“You want to know why I didn’t tell you about the miscarriage.”
“You’re entitled to your privacy.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, hating the pain in her eyes. “But yeah, I’m hurt. I thought we were getting somewhere, really opening up to each other. I’ve been vulnerable with you. We spent an entire weekend together sharing family stories and intimate details. You know the name of my grandparents’ dog and the poem my mother read at my wedding. You didn’t feel like you could share with me?”
A tear rolled down her cheek. She looked like she might bolt at any second. “So I owe you the story?”
“I’m not saying you owe me.” God, he wanted to shake her. “I’m just saying, I thought we were on the same page. As far as intimacy and truth and sharing and?—”
“It’s where I met Mia.”
“What?”
“In a support group for women who’d had a miscarriage.”
The air suddenly felt colder. “Mia had a miscarriage?”
“It happens, Adam. To one in four women. Did you know that?”
“No, I—I mean, I knew it was common, but I didn’t know the numbers.” Guilt sloshed in his gut. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
Still, something wasn’t adding up. He wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her they could get through this. That the half-truths and cover-ups could be over now, and they could start fresh.
She’d shut down again, he could see it in the stiffness of her posture. Gently, like he was coaxing a timid forest creature, he tried again.“So you had a miscarriage. Recently?”
She looked away. “Two years ago. Right after I broke off my engagement to Shawn.”
