Page 77 of The Thinnest Air
No, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t have kids. And the fact that I’m being all awkward with this conversation isn’t helping the situation. He knows he’s making me nervous.
“How have you been, Meredith?” he asks, ignoring my attempt to exit this exchange.
My brows rise. “Good. You?”
His lips tighten. “I hate this.”
Glancing around to ensure we’re alone in this colorful aisle, I step closer. “You hate what, Ronan?”
“How awkward this is,” he says. “It’s like we’re a couple of strangers now.”
“Ronan.”
“I want to be able to say hi to you without making you all flustered,” he says. “Without making you scramble in the opposite direction.”
“I really do have to get the kids,” I say, eyeing the checkout once more.
“It’s two o’clock,” he says. “You have plenty of time. Just ... do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“When we see each other around, don’t ignore me. Don’t make it a thing. Just wave. Say hi. We can be adults about this.” His thumb hooks his belt loop, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me once.
“This really isn’t the time or place.” I scan the aisle again, thanking my lucky stars when a woman from the gym glances down and keeps walking. She didn’t see me. Didn’t seeus.
“Shit.” He covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I forget you’ve got more skin in the game than I do.”
“I really should go.”
“Can we talk sometime?” he asks as I push my cart away.
“About?” Not that I’d say yes. Curiosity has gotten the best of me.
Ronan follows me, the wheels of his cart clicking against the tile floor. “There’s something I think you should know. About your husband.”
My heart falls like a dead weight. “What about my husband?”
“I’d rather tell you in private.”
I refuse to go anywhere with him. I’ve been doing so well lately, working on my marriage, focusing on Andrew and renewing my commitment to him. I’m not proud of what I did. It was selfish and wrong, and I’m not about to tiptoe off for some secret meeting with an ex-lover.
“Meet me in the parking lot after I check out,” I tell him. “I’ll give you five minutes, and then I have to go.”
He follows me toward the front of the store, and I hold my breath until he chooses a different lane. A few minutes later, I’m wheeling my groceries to the fifth parking spot in the last row, and he’s strutting out the automatic doors, two bags in his muscled arms.
I watch as he heads to his truck, dropping them in the back, and then comes my way.
“So?” I ask, slamming the lid of the trunk. “What’s this thing you think I should know about my husband?”
With folded arms, he widens his stance, studying me. “I have reason to suspect he’s been cheating on you.”
“Do you have evidence?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing hard. Nothing tangible that I can present to you. But I’m working on it.”
“Stop.” I push past him, heading toward the driver’s door. “Please just ... stop meddling. Stay out of my marriage. I know we have issues. Neither of us is perfect. We’re just trying to make this work.”
I don’t believe him.
