Page 23 of What He Doesn't Know

He paused at that, fork hovering over his plate as his eyes finally found mine. There were a million words flitting through those dark eyes of his, but he didn’t say a single one of them.

“It’s fine,” I conceded with a sigh, knowing bringing her up was unfair of me. I’d promised both myself and him that I wouldn’t do that, but sometimes it was too difficult not to. “Work is work, right?”

“I really am sorry,” he said, voice lower now. His eyes begged me for understanding, and mine begged him for love. “Maybe next weekend.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

For a while I just sat there, watching him eat the dinner I’d cooked for him, foot shaking where it hung over my opposite leg under the table. I couldn’t remember the last time we went on a date. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done anything more than exist together, and for the first time in years, it didn’t just make me sad.

It made me angry.

The longer I sat there and watched him chew, the more silence that passed between us — the more I realized I didn’t want to be silent any longer. And I didn’t want to sit still, either.

“Well,” I said when he’d finished his steak. “Since you’ll be working, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I went to this happy hour thing some of the teachers are going to, would you?”

Cameron wiped his mouth with his napkin before dropping it on his own plate to mirror mine. “Happy hour?”

I nodded. “I know it’s not really my thing, but there are a bunch of teachers going. It’d be a good chance for me to network. You know, make some friends with the faculty.”

He considered me as he stood, gathering his plate and utensils first before reaching for mine. “I don’t see why not. Like you said, would be a good opportunity for you.”

“Great,” I clipped. I stood, too, ready to storm upstairs to change, but I stopped myself, closing my eyes and forcing a breath as Cameron finished picking up my mess. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said easily. “You cook, I clean. We’re a team, remember?” He leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to wash up and head into the study. Have fun with the other teachers. Give me a call if you need a ride home, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stood rooted to that spot until he disappeared into the kitchen. When I was alone, the anger I’d felt morphed back into sadness, and suddenly I didn’t even want to go to the stupid happy hour. But what else was I supposed to do? Sit around and watch TV? Teach Jane and Edward a new song? I shook my head, dragging myself up the stairs to change.

Maybe getting out of the house would make me feel better.

I guessed I didn’t really have any other choice but to find out.

Reese

Blake laughed at the tail end of my story as I took another swig of beer, eyes focused on the sports highlights sprawling across the TV in front of me. I didn’t keep up with sports, but it was something to watch now that I was alone in a bar. The Westchester faculty happy hour had lasted for, literally, one hour, before everyone made excuses to leave.

So, I’d picked up the phone to call my old roommate.

I’d been avoiding the phone call long enough, I figured I might as well get it out of the way with a little booze in my system.

“Well, you’re missed around here,” Blake said, still laughing. “But it sounds like you’re getting settled in just fine.”

“I am. It’s kind of weird. Feels a little like coming home and a little like starting over fresh at the same time,” I said. I went to tell another story, this time about old Mrs. Garrett who wouldn’t stop pinching my ass in the break room, but my voice faded off when I saw Charlie.

She was standing just inside the door of the bar, looking around with pinched brows as she unwrapped her scarf. Her eyes finally landed on me, and she smiled, though I would have sworn she’d been crying just moments before.

“Sorry, Blake, I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

I didn’t wait for a response before I ended the call, sliding my phone into my back pocket as I stood to wave Charlie over.

Her hair was still pulled up into a tight bun, just like it had been earlier that day when we’d had lunch together. But she’d changed into a tight pair of dark jeans and a classy, long sleeve blouse that peeked out under her ivory pea coat. Her smile was wide as she shrugged it off her shoulders, slinging it over the back of the bar stool next to mine before leaning in to hug me.

Lemonade. How did she smell like summer in the middle of January?

“You made it,” I mused, pulling her chair out for her.

“Looks like I’m the only one.” She chuckled, looking around the mostly empty bar. “Where is everyone?”