Page 37

MARLOW

Saturday morning is a mad dash to throw together the barbeque. Since it’s being held at a public park, I have no choice but to wait until the morning of the event to put up decorations and set up the tables. Abby came to help, dragging Hunter along because, as she says: “This is his damn event.”

Hunter started out on streamer duty, but it was abundantly clear that the man had never so much as seen a streamer in his entire life.

He was ripping off tiny shreds and taping them up around the gazebo like pieces of confetti.

Abby banished him to the grill once it was time to start cooking and laughed as she did what she could to fix Hunter’s creative attempt at streamer distribution.

By the time the guests start arriving, it looks like a passable end of summer barbeque party. A banner is strung up between the trees which reads: ‘Thank you summer interns and volunteers’ and a tiered table of cupcakes in three different flavors is displayed under the gazebo.

Guests start filtering in. The elderly volunteers are the first to arrive. They buzz around the beverage table, periodically stopping by to tell Abby and me how great the decorations look (before they notice Hunter’s streamers, of course).

Linda and Vickie are among the next to arrive, followed by more of my coworkers. Even though I swore to myself that I wouldn’t, I’m watching like a hawk for Ryan to arrive.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Abby, who nudges me in the ribs and whispers in a sing-song voice, “He’s here!” as soon as she spots him.

I look over from the streamer that I’m retaping for the millionth time.

My heart thumps against my chest the moment that I see him, like it’s waking up from a long nap.

It’s going to take me some more time to train it to stop doing that.

The other day in the office, I didn’t even need to see him.

All it took was the familiar thud of his heavy boots on the squeaky hardwood floors to elicit the same reaction.

I knew I should have let him leave that day, but my feet moved across my office almost involuntarily.

I needed to see his face, needed to know if it still gave me the same reaction.

It did…and I knew that seeing him again so soon was a mistake.

My stomach flutters when I realize that Ryan’s eyes are fixed on me from across the park and he’s walking toward me like he’s on a mission. He’s storming over like he might kiss me and, yes, I very much want that to happen.

I add that to the list of involuntary responses that I have to Ryan Ehler. And habits I need to break.

When he’s standing right in front of Abby and me, he issues a hurried greeting before turning to me.

“I need to talk to you,” he says quietly to me.

Before I can object, his fingers brush against my elbow and lead me away from prying eyes and ears. We stop short of a stand of trees. Ryan runs his palm down his face slowly, revealing a tense expression underneath. My stomach sinks, bracing me for the bad news that’s sure to follow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Before he can answer, a familiar figure clouds my vision right over his shoulder. It takes me a second to figure out why I recognize her. When it clicks, my heart freefalls all the way down to my feet, where it welcomes the inevitable trampling that it’s about to take.

Ryan looks at me then glances over his shoulder. He huffs out a sharp breath.

Okay, this is happening. I’m about to see Ryan with another woman.

The other woman. So are all of our coworkers, who don’t even know that Ryan and I broke up yet.

I’m about to be flooded with concern and questions, all whispered over cups of fruit punch and the smell of burning hot dogs (which has to be my least favorite of all food smells).

And because this is essentially my barbeque for my interns and volunteers, there is no hope of escape.

Deep breath. And another for good measure. Okay, that’s too many…now you’re just hyperventilating, Marlow.

I square off with Ryan, the way we use to do before we ever made the mistake of kissing each other. But I can’t quite meet his eyes as I say, “It’s fine” and start to walk away.

Yesterday he didn’t even seem to know about this barbeque and today he’s inviting his new girlfriend to tag along? What in the actual seventh level of hell?

A hand curls gently around my forearm, pulling me back. It takes everything I have no to slap Ryan as I spin around to face him again.

“It’s not what you think,” he says in his quiet, low voice. “She’s here with Emmett.”

“With Emmett? Why?”

“I set them up, but I didn’t realize he would invite her here. I didn’t want to tell him about…” Ryan trails off, replacing the word ‘us’ with a slight gesture of his hand.

“It’s fine,” I repeat too quickly as I start to walk away again. I just need some space from this conversation.

Ryan calls after me. I stop but don’t turn around. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod curtly, and then I let the crowd of people gobble me up before I can start to cry again.

After filling Abby in, I spend the next hour widely avoiding Ryan, Emmett, and the curly-haired girl.

I can’t handle any of them right now. The girl makes this difficult by tripping into Jack and ending up drenched in the pitcher of water I’d asked him to carry over to the food table.

When everyone’s attention turned to her, I watch Ryan give Emmett an almost threatening nod right before Emmett pointed her in the direction of the bathrooms.

By some force that I’ll never be able to explain, I find myself following her there.

Watching her and Ryan interact at the party, I can tell there is nothing between them, but it feels like there isn’t anything between her and Emmett either.

And clearly, I need to find a new hobby besides stalking this poor girl. She hasn’t even done anything wrong.

But here I am.

When I push open the door to the bathroom, she is standing in front of the sink blotting her chest with a paper towel. She glances over at me with a polite smile, even though it looks like she might cry.

I know the feeling.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she says with a tiny laugh as I stand beside her and wash my hands. “I just get so nervous around guys, you know? Well, you probably don’t know…” she says as she looks up at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m not sure what to say in response, but luckily, she keeps talking.

“You look familiar. I think I’ve seen you at the Grumpy Toad, right?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you there, too,” I say in the friendliest tone I can manage.

Bonnie pauses from blotting herself for a minute and gives me a big, generous smile in the mirror. She glances down at my uniform and sucks in a breath like she’s about to say something then seems to think better of it.

The cheap paper towels are crumbling and pilling all over her dark purple shirt, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

“You should try the hand dryer instead,” I say.

“It’s broken.”

“You could try the one in the men’s restroom. I’ll keep guard if you want.”

“Really?” she asks. “That’s so nice of you.”

I let her lead the way to the men’s bathroom, where we knock and holler before entering.

Bonnie steps inside tentatively, confirming that the stalls are empty before turning on the hand dryer.

I stand with my back to the door, keeping it propped open as I stand in the doorway to turn away any men that come along.

“You must know Emmett, right?” she hollers over the noise of the machine.

“We work together.”

She hesitates, looking down at her shirt and then up at me.

“This was supposed to be our first date…sort of. A friend set us up and we’ve been texting back and forth, but this is the first time we’ve met in person.

I’m sort of debating running away in shame though.

I’m pretty sure I just embarrassed him in front of all his coworkers. ”

“Trust me, it would take a lot more than that to embarrass Emmett,” I laugh. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

I stop short of telling her about the time that Emmett let one of the interns pay him twenty bucks to eat a mystery container of food out of the break room fridge. The guy definitely does not embarrass easily.

The dryer clicks off and Bonnie smooths her hands over the front of her blouse.

“Does it look okay?” she asks nervously.

“You look great, good as new.”

She smiles at me like she’s trying to figure something out.

When she meets up with me near the door, she thanks me for helping her out.

As soon as we turn the corner, Ryan spots me.

His eyes go wide as he looks from me to Bonnie.

He splinters off from the group of rangers who are huddled around the barbeque with Hunter and heads straight for us.

“I see you two have met.” It’s meant to sound casual, but I can see the muscle in his jaw clench as he speaks.

“Not officially,” I say, turning to Bonnie. “I’m Marlow.”

“Bonnie,” she says as she shakes my hand gently.

When she turns back to face Ryan, there is a moment of hesitation, like she isn’t sure if they are the type of friends who hug or not. She settles on a quick sideways embrace, which lasts less than two seconds. These two have never been together – that’s abundantly clear at this moment.

“Ryan is the one who set me up with Emmett,” Bonnie tells me enthusiastically. Turning to Ryan, she asks, “Have you seen him?”

“He was over by the grill last I saw him,” Ryan says.

Bonnie trots off toward the mass of muscled men crowded around the smokey grill.

Ryan and I stand there in silence, neither of us even trying to think of anything to say.

I’m not sure what is left to say. Yes, I believe him about Bonnie, especially after talking to her and seeing the two of them interact.

But what about the next time it happens?

And believe me, there will be a next time.

It’s inevitable. Between the dozens of women Ryan has already slept with and the millions more who would probably sell their little toe for a single night with him, something like this will happen again.

It’s that damn smirk, the one that makes women want to blush and beg and fall at his feet.

And when they do, I will never fully trust him not to stumble down with them.

Ryan opens his mouth. The first syllable of a word pops out before the ring of my phone cuts him off.

I pull it out of my back pocket, just to mute it, but then I see the words above the number on the screen: Green Valley Recovery – my mom’s rehab center.

My mom only ever calls from her cell phone, but this is the front desk’s number, and she never deviates from our schedule.

She’s careful not to push my boundaries while we try to rebuild our relationship.

A random call from the front desk on a Saturday afternoon can mean only one thing – something is wrong.

“Sorry, I think I need to take this,” I say, stepping away from Ryan as I answer.

He rubs a hand over his face, and I think I see his lips move in a way that looks a lot like the word ‘fuck.’