Page 43 of Snowed In
“It’s a new jacket,” he says, patting down his pockets. “I don’t know where the— Found them.”
He takes them out with a smug smile, and I mock clap as I glance around. The parking lot is busier now as dinnertime approaches, and there’s a traffic jam by the entrance. I watch, distracted, as a man in an SUV tries in vain to squeeze through the crush, and catch sight of two people a few rows down from us.
It’s the woman I notice first. A tall brunette in a thick black sweater. She’s on the phone, gesturing as she talks, and she waggles her fingers at the man next to her, who dutifully hands over a water bottle. He has his back to me, but something about the way he moves holds my attention, and an instant before he turns, I realize why.
Isaac.
My breath mists in front of me as I exhale, watching with a kind of eerie serenity as he grabs a jacket from the back seat and pulls it on.
He’s cut his hair short.
He wore his hair long when we were in our early twenties and always threatened to shave it. He hated any kind of upkeep. Any kind of style.
I begged him not to do it. I loved running my hands through the strands. Loved it even if he didn’t.
He said he kept it to make me happy.
Said that was all he wanted to do.
And now he’s shaved it all off.
“What’s wrong?” Christian asks, noticing my hesitation.
Nothing. Everything.
“I…”
And Christian follows my gaze just as my ex-boyfriend, ex-fiancé, glances in our direction.
Our eyes meet, and panic surges through me, taking over all reasonable thought.
Oh my God. Oh myGod. “What do I do?”
“What we agreed,” Christian says, his voice low and soothing as they start walking our way. “Just remember, we met in Dublin. We hit it off, and we fell in love.”
“Right. Okay.” Met in Dublin. Fell in love. Met in Dublin. Fell in love. I repeat the words over and over in my mind as nerves jostle my stomach. They’re close now. Only a few cars down.
“Or we could just leave,” I say quickly. “Pretend we didn’t see him.”
“You’re literally staring at each other.” He steps closer to me, his hand finding mine. “You’ve got this.”
Do I, though?Do I?
It sounded like a movie when Christian talked about it before, but this is real life, this is now, this is the man I left at the altar staring at me like he’s seen a ghost.
Met in Dublin. Fell in love.
Met in Dublin. Fell in love.
Three cars away. The knot in my stomach moves to my throat.
“Megan?”
I drag my eyes to Christian, and I swear it’s like my brain shuts off. It’s the only explanation I have for losing all rational thought. All I can think about isex-boyfriendandfake boyfriendandkiss here,not there,and before I’m even aware of it, I’m fisting the front of his jacket, rising up on my toes, and pressing my lips to his.
NINE
CHRISTIAN
