Page 48 of Just Friends Forever
She takes a step closer. “Come on, show me!” She pauses, pulling back slightly. “Wait. Is it private? A message from Lyla?”
My brows snap together. “What? No. It’s—” I stop. What do I say? I don’t want her to see it. I can only imagine what it would feel like to see your ex-spouse moving on like that.
But it’s only a matter of time until she finds out. Heck, maybe she already knows.
Her eyes scan my face like she realizes maybe this is more serious than she thought.
She swallows. “What is it?”
I grimace, turn on my screen, and hand it to her.
Her gaze lands on the picture of us for a split-second before moving to the picture of Curtis.
I watch her expression like a hawk. She stares at the photo for a few seconds, her eyes glazing over a bit like she’s not even seeing it.
She hands my phone back to me.
I’m not sure what to say. This is the part of Stevie’s life that’s a mystery to me, but I can’t imagine seeing the man she was married to kissing another woman doesn’t affect her at all.
“Are you… okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, taking a seat at the table without meeting my gaze. “I’m fine. Ooo, this breakfast looks good. They’re real eggs, right? Not the freeze-dried ones?”
I follow her lead of ignoring the picture. If it’s distraction she needs, I can provide it. “These,” I say, handing her a fork, “are real, locally-sourced, cage-free, free range, grass-fed eggs.”
“I was with you until grass-fed.”
“Just trying to reassure you.”
“Are they really locally sourced?” she asks with interest.
“If locally sourced means I got them at the local source of groceries, then yes.”
She shoots me a look. “Cage-free?”
I scoop up a forkful. “I personally have never put them in a cage.”
“Free range?”
“They are free to roam about as they please, but apparently, they are content in their little carton cocoons.”
She laughs and stabs a few pieces with her fork. “You, Troy Sheppard, are ridiculous.”
“Oh!” I shoot up from my chair. “Forgot my new hot sauce.”
“What a tragedythatwould be.”
“Be right back.” I hurry to my room, where I stashed the package I got in the mail yesterday. I pull out the hot sauce and head back to the kitchen, pausing in the hallway when I catch sight of Stevie.
She’s staring ahead, the fork in her hand limp on her plate. I can guess where her mind is. She’s acting like she’s unfazed by the picture, but it’s all for show. It’s hard to watch somebody hurting. It’s even harder to watch them pretend they’re not.
She turns and looks at me, and I hurry forward with a smile, holding up my hot sauce. “Got it. We’ve got quite the audience out there today.”
“Waiting to get my reaction to that picture, no doubt.” Her voice is flat, like it’s no big deal. Or maybe like it’s such a big deal that if she shows any emotion, she’ll crack right down the center.
“What do you say we test your theory today?”
“What theory?” She’s pushing around her food a lot, but she has yet to take a bite.
