Page 102 of Wilder at Heart
‘How did you know Elle’s address?’
‘It’s your forwarding address,’ he says patiently, like I’m an obtuse toddler.
‘Oh. Yeah.’
I put the bottle on the island. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘That would be lovely.’
He stands stiffly with Olive while I hunt out some glasses and open the bottle. Why is this so excruciating?
I avoid his eyes until I’ve poured out the wine and pulled out a bar stool at the island. ‘Have a seat.’
He sits.
‘Nora.’
I look up at him.
‘I have something important I need to talk to you about.’
He raises his eyebrows to underscore what he’s just said, and the oddest, freakiest sense of dread creeps over me like a damp fog.
I’m paralysed.
It’s as if I’m watching someone run out into the road, and a car’s approaching, and I know what’s going to happen, but I’m powerless to stop it.
Because I know what’s happening here—or what’s about to happen—and it’s the culmination of everything I’ve wanted for months and months.
Jonathan has tracked me down. He’s pursued me, and he’s about to tell me he made a mistake, and he’s broken up with Lucy, and he wants me back, andfuck.
I don’t want it.
I don’t want him.
And it’s taken me way too long to work that out.
In fact, it’s taken seeing him in the flesh to realise. But compared to the excitement and desire that the merest thought of Theo ignites in my bloodstream, being here with Jonathan makes me feel… flat.
Indifferent.
At some point, the security Jonathan represents has become sameness, and what appeared to be danger has become dynamism. Potential—endless potential. Theo keeps me on my feet. He shows me what’s possible. His enthusiasm for life is infectious, and it’s got under my skin.
He’sgot under my skin.
I stare at Jonathan as the horror mounts relentlessly in my body, scratching across my skin. My mouth goes dry, and not in a good way. Not in the way it goes dry when Theo gets out of the shower. Or comes up behind me and brushes my neck with his lips. Or smiles hisyou’re going to get it, babysmile at me.
Not like that.
Nothing like that.
I take a swig of wine, swallowing it without appreciating the perfectly complex Chardonnay notes, and stick my thumb in my mouth so I can maniacally chew at a hangnail.
I’m about to break up a relationship for someone I don’t want anymore. I’ve had this picture in my head this whole time, and it’s thewrong fucking picture.I snort air in through my nostrils.
Jonathan’s staring at me, concern in his big blue eyes.
‘You okay, Nor?’
