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The pain of what he’d done had been lodged deep in my soul, and seeing a text from him today had only exasperated that pain. It had only brought my attention to that sliver that remained wedged in my subconscious and prevented me from loving or being loved. I opened my eyes again, and with a shaking hand, I picked at the splinter in my knee.

If only the emotional splinters were as easy to remove.

Chapter twelve

Ruth

Ruth

Gemma dunked a crispy fry into a puddle of ketchup, watching me with suspicious, blue eyes. “We should just internet stalk him.”

“We’re not internet stalking him,” I replied dismissively. Around us, the small, cafe-style restaurant teemed with patrons, filled to the brim for lunch. The great thing about Angel’s Bistro was that it had the best fries in the city. The problem with Angel’s Bistro was that everyone in Eugene knew that. Gemma and I had managed to grab a table for an early lunch, and she had ordered a hamburger and fries while I’d gotten the Reuben… and fries. Obviously. One did not come to Angel’s and not order fries.

We were at an inside table, seated along the window wall that overlooked the equally full patio outside.Although it was the second week of August, people were that desperate to get high-quality sandwiches, apparently. Angel’s had a modern, industrial vibe accented with rustic touches that softened the edge of all the black metal, exposed ductwork, and shiny chrome finishes.

I took a bite of the last half of my Reuben, savoring the salt and tangy bread mixed with Angel’s signature fry sauce. Gemma gave me a squint. “Because you’re ignoring him?”

“Because… I don’t want to know,” I admitted around a mouthful of sandwich.

“You don’t want to know if your ex is successful?” Gemma asked, poking her plate with her fry to punctuate each question. “Or a failure? Or dating someone? Or married?”

I swallowed and gave her a sardonic mouth scrunch. “Why would I want to know that?”

“Because… we just do.” She shoved the fry in her mouth.

“I really don’t,” I insisted. Alright,lied. I’d already internet-stalked Vaughn the day I’d gone home with Gemma after my failed date. I amended that in my head quickly. Failed fake date. The “fake” part was important because I’d totally ditched Cal Reed with a hastily typed text, and I hadn’t heard from him since. After I’d managed to calm myself down from my panic attack, I’d called Gemma and begged her to come get me from the hotel. She’d stayed the night with me, and then we’d high-tailed it out of there early in the morning.

But it wasn’t ditching him if the date hadn’t been real, right?

My conscience didn’t seem to think so. The guilt over leavingCal there after he’d bought me a hotel room for the night kept niggling at me. The embarrassment of having a panic attack after one kiss was even worse. It was better not to think about it, but I was having as much luck with that as I was with ignoring the fact that Vaughn had texted me out of nowhere.

Our waitress brought our check, and I reached for my purse, only to realize it wasn’t there. It was still in Cal’s car. Gemma gave me a shrewd look as she pulled her bright pink wallet out of her designer bag. “You going to call your husband and get your purse back sometime this century?”

“Probably not,” I admitted. I took a sip of diet cola and swallowed hard. Even the idea of texting Cal again—where it would butt up against the last one that said, “Went home with Gemma. Thanks again.”—made me want to shrivel up like a prune. “I’ll just… cancel all my cards and get new ones.”

“And get a new license?” Gemma’s long lashes fell to half-mast. “Really?”

Sighing in disgust, I leaned my forehead against the glass wall to my right. “I don’t know. I can’t text him again.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go to like, an award thing with him next weekend, anyway?” Gemma asked absently as she filled out the tip on the receipt.

I waved a lazy hand. “I was supposed to. I seriously doubt he’s going to bring that up now. I completely freaked out on him, Gem. Like… psycho-lady freakout.”

Gemma sighed, setting down the pen firmly. She gave me an irritated, direct glare. “Unresolved trauma will do that to you.Moron.”

“You’rea moron,” I mumbled back. I leaned back in my chair, pressing my glasses to my face as the embarrassment of Friday night washed over me again. It was Tuesday, now, and I still felt that unease as acutely as I had Saturday morning when I’d left. Actually, it was almost worse.

“Actually, I take that back,” Gemma said thoughtfully, picking up another fry. “I saw what you did with your newest set of matches yesterday. I knew you had a genius brain.” She pointed the fry at me. “Thank you for proving me right.”

I gave her a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

“Dude, sending them three options for potential matches was brilliant.” She quoted my colorful, brightly designed email as she waved her fry around. “‘Would you like your match based on astrological sign, matching interests, or physical description?’ I can’t believe we didn’t think to organize it that way.”

I sat up and leaned my chin on my hand. “They all responded, and they all had different preferences, so here’s hoping.” I had spent all weekend distracting myself from my discomfort by launching myself into a new matchmaking plan. What Janice had said, and my experience with Cal, had ignited the idea in my brain. So far, it seemed promising.

“Usually, we just read through their stuff and kind of go off gut instinct, but you got all clever, you nerdy scientist,” Gemma grinned. “Make them choose, and then even if it sucks, they can go with something elsethey’rein charge of.” She made the “chef's kiss” motion with her fingers. “Brilliance.”

“Thanks.” I nudged the corner of my glasses with my knuckle. “I might save my job yet.”