Page 37 of Keepsake
Here comes the awkward part, I thought. “Thanks,” I said as mildly as I could manage. He walked over, opening his arms. I let myself be folded into a hug. His wiry runner’s body was so familiar that I had to close my eyes.
He kissed my cheek for what seemed like a lengthy moment. “You had me really worried.”
“I’m getting that a lot,” I replied, pulling back. “Let’s sit. I love this porch. Isn’t it great?” Time for a change of topic. I’d begun to get a really weird vibe from Gilman. He usually wasn’t an emotional guy. But he didn’t want to let go of me. He had one hand closed around my forearm, as if I might slip off the porch and escape into the breeze.
Which sounded like a fine plan, actually.
I managed to get free of him by walking over to one of the rocking chairs. On the lawn, the guys were drinking their tea and talking. Except for Zach, who was watching Gilman with an unreadable expression.
My ex took the chair beside mine, and I forced myself to turn to him. My neck flushed with discomfort, hoping we could get this next bit over with soon. What a ridiculous idea it would be to get back together. There was no way to rewind my life to a time when I hadn’t been to Guatemala. The old Lark was long gone. The new one couldn’t recognize Lark 1.0 at fifty paces.
“There’s tea, but I recommend the cider,” I told Gilman. “The Shipleys press it fresh every day, and we sell it at the farmers’ market. If you weren’t driving, I’d ask Griffin to pour you the hard stuff.”
He nodded, then took a glass in silence, and I began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.
I just blinked at him. “What’s wrong with right here?”
His gaze took in the guys on the lawn, and May just beyond the end of the porch, in the little herb garden. “Okay, here’s good.”
Of course it was.
He took a gulp of cider. “I didn’t know what to think when you disappeared. It was a terrible time for me.”
“Really?” I flinched.Not as terrible as it was for me. I looked into my glass, waiting for his apology. Even if I didn’t really want to be half of a couple anymore, I wanted to hear, “I made a mistake.” Though only guilt would make him say it. And a relationship based on guilt was surely a bad idea.
I wouldn’t be good for him right now. Or for anyone. I was such a perfect wreck. It wouldn’t be right for me to go home to Boston, dust off my old life and slip right back into Gilman’s arms. Not when I was still too raw to get on with my life. With anyone.
“I’d been thinking about you a lot,” Gilman went on. “And then when you disappeared, I thought I was never going to get to say it.” His brow furrowed, and his eyes were pained.
Just spit it out, I thought.And then I can let you down easy.
“Lark, the truth is, we were never right for each other. I’ve met someone, and we’re going to get married in the spring.”
It took my brain a while to process that statement. Then the anger kicked in.“What?”It came out as a yelp. And I was vaguely aware of heads turning in my direction.
“I wanted to tell you in person, before you could see it on Facebook,” Gilman went on, his words rushed.
“Facebook,” I echoed stupidly.
“We were going to announce it…before,” he said, stumbling on the words. “And then…and then you were missing. And I felt so terrible. Like I’d caused it somehow. I know that’s stupid, but it really upset me that you were out there somewhere in trouble. And I was supposed to be deciding between the cream-colored invitations and the white ones.”
I could only stare at him and wonder when the words that were falling from his mouth would start making more sense.
“So it hasn’t been an easy couple of months. I’m just so happy you made it home safely.”
Red hot anger rose in my veins. “Let me get this straight. You’re happy I’m home, so that you can get married to someone you met in the last four months?”
His eyes shifted away from me. “I met her before then. But we, uh, didn’t start dating until after you left.”
“Who is it?” I heard myself ask.
“Mandy,” he said, his voice cautious.
Mandy. The name was vaguely familiar. “Your…intern? The one with a different flower painted on each fingernail? The one with the pink hairbands?That’swho you’re marrying?”
“Yes. Don’t shout at me.” A vein pulsed in his jaw.
“Don’t shout?” I squeaked. “Were youcheatingon me?”
