Riiiight.
“And you want to be that for me.”
He slowly leans forward, one hand bracing on the rail of the treadmill, and my heart races as he gently nips my lip.
“Don't you?”
I do. Of course I do. But—
“What about you?” I ask. “Don't you want to be my perfect husband?”
“I already am.”
Oh, this man's confidence...
It's honestly at a whole different level.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because of this.”
I don't have the chance to ask him what he means, with Nate neatly executing some kind of athletic maneuver that has him on the treadmill, facing me—
“Nate?” I really have a bad feeling about this all of a sudden. I feel like he's about to do something cra—aaaah!
The belt jolts forward, and I stumble with a gasp, his arm going around my waist before I could grab the rail. I'm running towards him, he's running backwards, and yet he still manages to grab a fistful of my hair and then we're kissing!
On the treadmill!
When he hits the Pause button, I know in my mind only a few seconds have passed, but they were honestly the craziest seconds of my life, and so all I can do is gape at him while my heart pounds against my chest and my lips continue to tingle.
“You can ask me whatever you want once we're married,” Nate says lazily. “But for now...”
The treadmill's running again, and he's kissing me again, and—
“Junebug?”
I come back into my body all at once.
The restaurant. The candle. Elliot across the table. The chicken, mostly untouched.
And I want to die because I can't believe how shameless I am, to rememberthatof all things about my soon-to-be-ex-husband while I'm on a date with another man.
“I'm s-so sorry, but will you excuse me?” I'm already stumbling to my feet, unable to meet Elliot's gaze, my napkin slipping off my lap and onto the chair behind me. “I just...I just need to go to the ladies'.”
I'm walking before he can stand up to be polite about it. Past the bar. Past the host stand. The bathroom's down a hallway behind a velvet curtain at the back, and I'm almost to the curtain when—
Rollo.
I know I'm not mistaken. It's him in a dark suit, seated in a corner table, drinking coffee. I know I can't be wrong...just like I know I'd never have spotted him if he didn't want to be spotted.
He rises to his feet when he sees me walking toward him, pulls out the chair across from his, and waits.
I sit.
He sits.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.