Текст книги "Some Sort of Happy"

Автор книги: Melanie Harlow

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Her eyes lit up, her cheeks blooming pink. “Thank you.”

“But there’s no one there who’d care about seeing me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, setting down her empty glass. “I’d care.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather fucking shoot myself than go to that thing.”

She sighed. “That’s kind of how I feel about it now too. I know everyone there will just be talking shit about me, being pretend-nice to my face.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t, everyone will talk shit about me.”

My forehead wrinkled. “Wait, you just said they’d talk shit about you if you did go.”

“Yeah, but it would be worse shit talk if I wasn’t there,” she said with some sort of baffling female logic. “So I have to go, and you should go too. In fact, we should go together.”

I almost choked. “What?”

“We should go together.” She braced her elbows on the table and leaned toward me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Then we could give them something new to talk about.”

I leaned in too. I couldn’t resist. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like this.”

And without any warning whatsoever, she kissed me. Put those soft pink rose petal lips right over mine and left them there for a second, during which I was too stunned to move. My cock jumped, and I pulled away.

Then she sat back, her expression horrified. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

Holy shit. What did I just do?

I kissed him. I kissed him.

I kissed Sebastian Pryce.

I tried to read his expression, but I couldn’t. Best I could tell, it was somewhere between Jesus Christ, why the hell did she do that? and Goddamn, let’s flip this table out of the way and go at it.

An eternity passed. Several species of birds went extinct. Continents drifted.

“Say something¸” I begged. “I feel horrible right now. I shouldn’t have done that. Can I blame the wine?” Yes. That was it. Pin the kiss on the Pinot.

But had it been the wine? Maybe it was something else. I was no math expert, but this was an intoxicating equation: Hot Guy with Mysterious Past + Way With Pretty Words x Chivalry at Beach / His Aloofness at Coffee Shop (Immunity to My Face & Flirty Efforts) + Innuendo at Hardware Store x Honest Confession about OCD Struggles —> Curiosity + Arousal (Belly Flutters + Pulse Quickening)=ATTACKISS.

Right?

Or was I overthinking it? Maybe the plain, crazy truth was just that I was really attracted to Sebastian Pryce. But he was probably one of those quiet, tortured geniuses that didn’t go for girls like me. He went to law school, for heaven’s sake! He wrote poetry!

His lips tipped up slightly, those warm lips that had felt so good against mine. “Ah. Sure. It’s fine. Don’t feel horrible, really. You just surprised me.” He shifted in his chair.

“I can tell.” I reached for my wine glass but it was empty. Frantically, I looked around for our server. Waiter! This is an emergency!

“Hey.” He put his fingers over my wrist. “It’s OK.”

“Are you sure?”

His sea glass green eyes were clear and his voice gentle. “I’m sure. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“OK.” Since he’d been pretty forthcoming about everything tonight, I was sort of hoping he’d elaborate on his feelings, but that’s all he said.

For the rest of the night.

I mean he totally shut down.

Not in an angry way or anything, but he just stopped talking. No more jokes, no more smiles, no more stories. Was he anxious? Angry? Confused? Scared? In any case, I was so embarrassed and flustered I talked about anything and everything just to fill the silence.

We finished our meals—I decided against the second glass of wine, especially since he just had the one beer—and he drove me back to my car. I chirped like a bird on crank about random nonsense the entire ride back, and as we pulled into the hardware store lot, I looked over and saw him laughing a little.

“What?” I asked.

“You. Do you ever stop talking?”

I slapped my hands over my face. “No. I mean yes, but no. Not when I’m nervous.” Beneath my palms, my face was hot.

“Why are you nervous?”

“Because! I made an ass of myself by kissing you in the restaurant! And you’re all smart and silent and mysterious and I’m just…” I threw my hands in the air. “Obvious and silly.”

“Is that what you think?” He put the truck in park and shifted on the seat to face me.

“Yes.” I turned toward him. “Because before I did that, everything seemed fine. And then afterward, you kind of just…shut down.”

Nodding slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Why? Are you mad?”

He looked at me strangely. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! I can usually read people pretty well but your face was like totally impassive. Fucking stonehenge. And you weren’t talking either, so I felt crazy awkward and tried to talk for the both of us.”

He cracked a smile. “You did it well.”

I stared helplessly at him, finally out of words.

“OK, look.” He put an elbow on the back of the seat and propped his head on his fingers. His expression was more relaxed, amused even. “I’m sorry I shut down. I was trying to process some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like why you did it.”

“I did it because I felt like it. How’d you feel about it? Be honest.”

He smiled lazily, and I had the insane desire to trace his lips with my tongue. “Good.”

I gaped at him. “That’s it? Good? You’ve been silent for an entire hour and a half and that’s all I get? Good?”

“Uh huh.” His eyes glittered in the dark, and I hoped he was undressing me with them.

“Oh, that is so mean.”

“Sorry. I’m a man of few words.”

“How can a lawyer be a man of a few words?”

A beat went by. “Did I tell you I was a lawyer?”

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Um, you must have, right?”

“I don’t think I did.”

He didn’t seem angry, exactly, but there was an edge to his tone that hadn’t been there before, a wariness, maybe. I decided to come clean. If we were going to be friends, I felt like I owed him the truth about what I’d heard. After all, he’d been more than honest with me tonight.

Plus the silence was killing me.

“OK, don’t be mad. Natalie mentioned that she’d heard some women talking in the shop about you. She told me she overheard you were a lawyer in New York.”

“Anything else?” His voice was tight.

I took a breath. “Yes. There was something about you having some sort of…mental breakdown last year.” I decided to skip the fiancée part.

He nodded slowly, a reaction I was starting to recognize as his I need to take this in so don’t ask right now gesture. But I was me, so I asked.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Oh. OK.” At a loss for what to say and worried I’d pushed too far, I slung my bag over my shoulder and reached for the door handle. “I should get going anyway. Thanks for dinner. I had fun.” I opened the door, and he grabbed my arm.

“Hey.”

I looked back at him.

“Come here.” He tugged me toward him, and I shut the door. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk about that stuff right now.”

“It’s fine,” I said with a shrug. “Your past is none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked about it.”

“Skylar.” Taking my hand in his, he gently rubbed his thumb across the tops of my fingers. “I’ve said more to you tonight than I’ve said to anyone but my therapist in the last year. And I don’t even remember the last time someone kissed me by surprise.”

My heart raced with pleasure—not desire or lust or sympathy, just pleasure. It meant something to me that he’d opened up a little tonight, especially since he’d built such protective walls around himself. Not that I blamed him. The more I thought about what school must have been like for him, the worse I felt. How horrible to live like that, to be so alone.

“I’m glad you did,” I said softly. “I like listening to you, and talking to you. And kissing you.” I lifted my shoulders. “I like you, Sebastian. I want to know you better.”

His eyes dropped to our hands. “I’m not an easy person to get to know.”

I tipped his chin up, forcing him to look me in the eye. “I’m willing to try.”

She got out of the truck and shut the door without another word. I watched her open up her car, get in, and drive off, wishing I’d have had the nerve to kiss her.

Of the two of us, she’s the brave one. Brave enough to ask me for a drink, brave enough to trust me alone with her, brave enough to kiss me just because she felt like it. That actually made me smile. I did it because I felt like it. I could still hear her voice, guileless and sweet. And I could still see the look in her eye as she leaned toward me, daring and sexy. Then her lips on mine… I groaned aloud and put the truck in drive.

She had no idea what she did to me. Of course I couldn’t talk after that. I was too busy trying to adjust my boxers and not think about my dick. But of course, since I was trying not to think about it, it was all I could think about. Couldn’t she tell?

Maybe not, since she thought I might be mad that she’d kissed me. Mad, for fuck’s sake. The only thing that made me mad about it was that I hadn’t kissed her back. I hadn’t told her how much I liked it, how much I’d wanted to do it again before she got out of the truck, how many times I’d imagined kissing her back when she barely knew I existed—and how much better the real thing was. It had taken some serious fortitude not to yell “CHECK, PLEASE,” grab her by the hand, and run out of there so I could take her back to the cabin and kiss her properly. Lavishly. Thoroughly.

How long had it been since I’d had a woman stretched out beneath me, moaning with pleasure while I devoured every inch of her skin? And Skylar’s skin looked so delicious. I bet it would feel like satin under my tongue. Taste like cherries and vanilla ice cream.

Fuck, I was hard again.

And she knew things about me. She knew about New York, or at least the bare bones of it, and she’d still asked me out.

As I drove the long, dark highway up the center of the peninsula, her SUV ahead of me, I found myself wishing again that things were different. No, that I was different. That I had something to offer her. Sure, there would be good days, like this one. And for a while, maybe the good days would outweigh the bad, or maybe she’d find the good days worth the bad. But that wouldn’t last.

So when Skylar turned off 37 onto the road leading to her parents’ farm, I didn’t follow her like I wanted to. I didn’t pull up next to her in the dark, get out of the truck and wait for her to ask me what I was doing there. I didn’t grab her and crush my mouth to hers without saying a word. I didn’t hold her body close to mine and fiercely whisper how much it meant that she was willing to try.

But I wanted to.

So badly it hurt.

• • •

When I got home, the cabin seemed particularly dark and empty. I didn’t feel like mindless television, and the internet would only depress me, so I picked up a book my dad had given me recently, sat on the couch and tried to read. But I couldn’t focus on the story—the silence was smothering me tonight. Throwing my jacket on, I walked outside and unloaded the Adirondack chairs from the back of my truck. But once I’d lugged the boxes over to the patio, I didn’t feel like putting them together. Instead, I left them there and wandered down to the dock, grateful for the nighttime noise of the crickets and owls, the water lapping softly against the rocky shore.

What was Skylar doing right now? Sleeping? Watching TV? Or did she like to read at night like I did? Maybe she’d felt industrious when she got home and was attaching her bin pulls to the kitchen cupboards. I wish I was there to help her. I should have offered. I didn’t even have her number to call her again. Why hadn’t I asked her for it?

After a few minutes, I went back inside and sank onto the couch, feeling so lonely and sad I did something I hadn’t done in months. I picked up my phone and called Diana.

As always, it went to voicemail.

“This is Diana. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Hey…it’s me.” I closed my eyes. “I know it’s been a while. But I was thinking about you and thought I’d try to reach out. I guess you’re still not ready to talk to me, and that’s OK. I just wanted to let you know that you were on my mind and I hope you’re doing well. And…I’m sorry. I know I’ve said that a million times, but I am. I wish I could go back and do it all differently. Anyway. Goodnight.”

I ended the call, feeling, as I always did after calling Diana, a mixture of guilt and disgust with myself. I should delete her number and quit bothering her.

I was about to do just that when it vibrated in my hand.

It was Diana’s number.

Fuck. She’d never actually returned a call. Now what? Grimacing, I pressed Accept. I owed her at least that much.

“Diana?”

A long pause. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. I…heard your message just now.”

I closed my eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I shouldn’t call you.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She sighed. “But I guess if I really wanted it to stop, I’d have changed my number by now.”

“I’ve often wondered why you haven’t.”

“I don’t know. I must like the reminders you’re doing OK.” She paused. “Are you?”

I answered semi-truthfully. “Mostly. What about you?”

“I’m OK.”

“Still in New York?”

“Yes.” She was silent again, and I worried she was crying. Fucking hell, had I not caused this woman enough pain? “Why did you call tonight?” she finally asked, and I heard the struggle in her voice.

To punish myself. “To apologize, I guess.”

“You can stop doing that. I’ve gotten all your messages.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

She didn’t answer right away. “For what, Sebastian?”

Something twisted in my gut. Proposing when I wasn’t sure. Shutting you out. Refusing sex. Not making time for therapy. Not taking the meds. Overdoing alcohol. Being late for everything. Lying to you. Calling off the wedding. Breaking your heart.

The list was so endless I couldn’t even begin.

“Does my forgiveness even matter anymore?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I parroted, although it was a fair question. Diana and I were over, after all. But I hated the thought that she’d resent me for the rest of her life. I deserved it, but deep down inside, I felt like if she told me that she was able to let it go and move on, that she was happy again in spite of the pain I’d caused, then maybe it would mean that I deserved some happiness too. That I wouldn’t have to punish myself forever. “I don’t know. It just feels right to ask for it.”

“God, Sebastian. That apology sucked.”

I winced, but I also smiled a little. It reminded me of something Skylar would say. “Yeah. You know me. Not great with words.”

“That’s not true. You just don’t trust yourself to say what’s on your mind.”

Again, I thought of Skylar. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I should work on that.”

“Are you going to therapy?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And you’re back in Michigan?”

“Yes. I built a cabin on the property I own. Where I tried to make you go camping that time, remember?”

“Oh, God. That experience still haunts me.”

I imagined her shuddering, the shake of her narrow shoulders. “Yes, city girl. You’d hate it.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. You can camp out in the woods all you want now. I’ll be here in my apartment with my doorman out front. And if I feel like flying off to Rome or Paris for a romantic vacation with my boyfriend, I can do it.”

There it was—the dig at me for being scared to fly. She never did miss an opportunity. “Sounds perfect for you.”

“It is.” She was quiet a moment. “Are you dating?”

I paused. “No.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I don’t know. It feels weird to talk about it with you. And I’m not really dating anyone. I met someone recently, but—”

“Who is she?” she asked quickly.

“No one you’d know. Just someone I went to school with.”

“Oh. She’s from there?”

“Yeah.” On the off chance that Diana knew Skylar from that reality show, I decided to change the subject. “Anyway, it’s nothing. I barely know her.” The conversation was starting to feel a little strange, so I decided to end it. “Well, thanks for calling me back. I appreciate it. And…it’s good to talk to you.” That was true. Her low, smoky voice didn’t have the power over me it once had, but I felt relief that we were finally able to have a civil conversation. And I was glad she seemed well. Maybe I hadn’t done irreparable harm.

But she didn’t hang up. “Can I ask you a question, Sebastian?”

Oh shit. “OK.”

“Why did you propose? We could have just broken up if you didn’t love me enough.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck. I never should have said that to her. “I told you. I was trying to be the person you wanted me to be.”

“So it was my fault.” A hard edge to her tone now.

“No. None of it was. I’ve told you that too. I’ll take all the blame.”

“I loved you. I was willing to put up with all your shit. And you gave up on me. On us. You humiliated me.”

“I know.” That thought haunted me. Diana had loved me, even with all the strange quirks. What if I never had that again? Even if I hadn’t been madly in love with her, maybe I should have tried harder to make it work. “You deserved better.”

“Damn right I did,” she said bitterly. “We had a perfect wedding planned, Sebastian. A perfect life.”

No, we didn’t. Not for me. That life in New York… The eighty hour work weeks, the all-nighters, the tedious grunt work, the insane deadlines, the constant pressure to bill, the competitive social scene, the pressure to constantly work more, earn more, have more. You loved all that. But it was tearing me apart.

“I should go.” I ended the call without saying anything else and went to bed, upset that I’d made the call in the first place. What the hell did I expect? I’d called off the wedding with six months to go, told her she wasn’t the one—why should she forgive me?

Sometimes I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision…maybe I had loved her enough and didn’t know it. Maybe I should have tried harder to live with the doubt. Maybe I should be married to her right now.

But it wasn’t Diana I missed when I got between the sheets that night. It wasn’t her body I wanted next to mine as I slipped my hard, swollen flesh through my fist. It wasn’t her smile or her voice or her laugh or her eyes or her mouth I thought about at the moment of agonizing, sublime relief.

It was Skylar’s.

And even though I knew I was no good for her, I also knew I wanted her too much to stay away.

I had the following day off from Coffee Darling, and I went to bed relishing the thought of sleeping in. But, wouldn’t you know it, my body clock was used to waking up early now, and my eyes opened at six and refused to stay closed again. Oh well. I swung my legs over the side of my bed. Maybe I’ll get a nap in later. Might as well get up and get some things done.

By nine, I’d attached all the bin pulls to the kitchen cupboards—laughing to myself when I recalled all the screw jokes from last night—taped off and primed a bathroom, and thought about Sebastian approximately one million times. Despite the slightly awkward ending, the spontaneous date had been a lot of fun.

Besides being handsome, Sebastian was a great listener and he made me laugh. I loved how open he’d been about his OCD, how honestly and self-deprecatingly he’d told me what it was like. My heart ached for him and how tough it must have been all those years before getting treatment, especially without the support of friends. And every time I thought about the beautiful, sad words he’d written about me, I got chills.

He’d said he wasn’t easy to get to know, and I’d meant it when I said I was willing to try.

Would he let me?

While the primer dried, I decided to get started refinishing an old bookshelf I’d found in my parents’ attic. My mother helped me carry it out to the driveway, where I’d laid newspapers on the ground.

She ran a hand over the top, which had several gouges. “Cripes, this thing’s pretty beat up. It was my grandfather’s. It’s called a lawyer’s bookcase.”

“Really?” I said, my ears perking up at the word lawyer. “I’m going to take off the varnish and paint it white.”

“That’ll be nice. He’d be pleased you’re going to use it.”

“I won’t keep it, Mom. It’s for a guest house.” I picked up the can of paint and varnish remover I’d purchased and began reading the directions on the back.

“No, you should take it when you move out.”

Was I imagining things, or did she emphasize the words move out? Was she dropping a hint? My eyes traveled over the words on the can without processing them.

“Where are you thinking of going?” she went on breezily.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I finally looked up. “I didn’t know I was being thrown out quite so soon.”

“Honey, I’m not throwing you out.” Her tone was soothing but firm. “You’re always welcome here.”

“But?” I shook the can. Violently.

“Well, don’t you think you should have a plan?”

“An exit strategy? I’m working on it.” I pulled off the cap, hoping she’d leave me alone to work. When she didn’t, I began spraying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cross her arms. She was petite and curvy, like Natalie and me, albeit with a few extra rolls around the middle. Only Jillian got our dad’s long, lanky frame and dark hair.

“Are you going back to New York?”

“I don’t know yet, Mom. I just said I don’t have a plan.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt.

“Well, do you have a deadline in mind? For having a plan, I mean?” she pressed.

I stopped spraying and faced her. “Do I need one? If I’m not welcome at your house, just say it.”

“Sky, don’t be silly. I said you’re welcome. My children are always welcome. I’m only trying to help you think ahead. You don’t want to live with your parents forever.”

I realized that she also meant I don’t want my adult daughter living at home with me forever. She and my dad were probably used to their privacy and routine by now. As if that wasn’t enough, she went on.

“And what about a job? It’s nice you’re working with your sister, but is that really what you want to do, work at a coffee shop?” She held up her hands. “If it is, that’s fine, but—”

“I get it, Mom.” I turned back to the bookcase. “I’ll come up with a plan.”

“OK.” She turned her own dazzling beauty queen smile on me. “Dinner’s at six thirty, don’t forget. I’m making fried chicken,” she said proudly. “Nat, Dan, and Jilly are coming too. Won’t that be nice?” She patted my shoulder and headed back into the house.

Sure. Another family function where we can all compare the Nixon sisters. Which one of these is not like the others?

Usually I looked forward to family dinners, but my mother’s words had cut deep. For the past couple weeks, I’d done a pretty good job avoiding the hard questions, but clearly I couldn’t go on like this forever. If only I had some kind of calling, like Jillian’s to be a doctor, or a dream that was achievable with hard work and dedication, like Natalie’s shop.

As I scraped off the old varnish, I tried to think of jobs I’d enjoy going to every day, something I could get excited about. My mother was right in that coffee shop employee wasn’t really on the list. And as much as I loved the farm, agriculture wasn’t really my thing either. I’d enjoyed the job at Rivard, but there was no way I’d get that position back. I was too ashamed to even ask for it. But maybe something like that…something fun, something that allowed me to work with people, something that allowed for creativity and spontaneity.

Christ. That is the vaguest fucking job description ever. You suck.

I did. I did suck.

By the time I’d taken off the varnish, eaten a quick lunch, and plugged my dad’s sander into the extension cord I’d run from the house, I was convinced I’d never be happy and I should just face the fact that I was a twenty-seven-year-old loser with a pretty face and not much else.

And even that wasn’t going to last forever. Thirty was around the corner, and then forty, and then fifty, and then sixty…decades of wrinkling skin and cracking bones and sagging flesh. But would there even be anyone who cared? My romantic history was as crappy as my job history—I wasn’t even sure I’d ever been in love.

I was still brooding about it when Sebastian’s truck pulled into the driveway an hour later. Immediately my mood improved.

“Hey,” I said, telling myself to walk, not run, toward him as he got out. It’s not like he was offering a life preserver to my drowning ass. “What are you doing here?”

He shut the truck door and leaned back against it, hands in his pockets. The sunglasses on his face hid his eyes, but he was smiling. “I came to see you.”

My insides danced a little. “How’d you find me?”

“I went to the shop. Your sister told me it was your day off and said you might be here.” He glanced over to where I’d been working. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. I need a distraction, actually.” The kind that happens without pants.

“Want to show me what you’re working on?”

“Sure.” Trying to keep my thoughts clean, I led him over to the bookcase and explained what I was doing. “It was my grandfather’s bookcase.”

“Even better. You have a connection to it.”

“Yes.” I clasped my hands together and rocked back on my heels. “What are you up to today?”

He shrugged, dropping his eyes to the ground a moment. “I had to go into town for a few things, but it’s such a nice day, I thought maybe I’d put together those chairs I bought last night and sit on the patio this afternoon.”

“Sounds nice. It is beautiful today, supposed to hit seventy-five. Can you believe it? In May?” Invite me. Invite me. Invite me.

He ran a hand over his short hair. “You mentioned wanting to see the cabin. I thought maybe—”

“I’d love to! Just give me one minute, OK?” Turning around, I went to unplug the sander when I panicked. I faced him again, my lower lip caught between my teeth. “Wait. You were going to ask me to come over, right?”

He laughed, his face lighting up. He looked so different when he smiled! “Yes. I was.”

“Whew. OK, good.” I put away the tools, and Sebastian helped me move the bookcase into the guest house, where I snuck away to quickly run a brush through my hair and rinse with mouthwash.

Not that I was planning on attackissing him again. But maybe he’d take the lead—I’d just do my best to let him know I was interested without being too forward.

“I like your house,” he said when I came out of the bathroom.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’ house, technically.” Recalling the conversation with my mother, I frowned.

“You don’t like living in it?”

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t…you know what?” I sighed, shaking my head. “Let’s not talk about it.”

His mouth fell open. “You don’t want to talk about something?”

I slapped him lightly on the arm. “Ha ha. No, I don’t. So let’s go, I’m dying to see your place.”

“Yours is much fancier,” he said as we walked outside. “Mine’s going to look very bare to your eye.”

I’d like your ass bare to my eye, I thought as I followed him to his truck. “Hey, do you want me to drive myself? That way you won’t have to bring me back.”

He opened the passenger door for me. “I don’t mind bringing you back.”

“OK. Thanks.” I climbed into the truck, feeling his hand brush my lower back. My entire body jittered with excitement, and I felt like a kid who just learned school is canceled for the day. There was some kind of new current between us—I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but I thought it had to do with the difference in him…he was so much more relaxed than he’d been at the end of the date last night. Did this mean he was up for seeing where this might go?

I told him to take the long, winding drive around the orchard before heading back out on to the highway, and I pointed out all my favorite spots on the farm—the best trees to climb, my favorite shady spot for reading, the perfect hiding places for hide and seek or ducking chores.

“You must have missed all this when you moved away,” he said, turning onto the main road. “Sounds like you really love it.”

“Yeah, I do. And I did miss it.”

“Think you’ll stay here for good?”

“Probably,” I said, staring out the window at the familiar landscape—the rolling hills, the orchards and vineyards, the old red barns with their peeling paint, the new faux chateaux of stone and brick. “What about you?”

“Staying. At least, that’s the plan for now.”

I asked him if he’d liked living in New York, and we both agreed it was great in some ways and difficult in others. He confided that the pace of big city life and the demands of his job probably contributed to his relapse. “I like the outdoors a lot,” he said, a little wistfully. “Hiking, fishing, camping. And I didn’t get the chance to do those kinds of things very often. Plus my ex-girlfriend wasn’t into them.”

I was surprised he mentioned her. “A city girl, huh?” I questioned, totally curious.

“Yeah.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him rub one finger along the stubble beneath his lower lip. After a moment, he went on. “Actually, she was my fiancée.”

I risked a sideways look at him. “Wow. It was pretty serious then, huh?

“Felt like it. For a while.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged, his jaw stiffening. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sorry.” You brought it up. Feeling unfairly chastised, I turned my attention out the window again.

A minute or so later, I heard him sigh. “Sorry.”

I looked at him but said nothing. A moment later, he spoke up.

“I lied to her.”

“About what?”

“Losing my job. I got fired from the firm I was with for being late all the time, behaving erratically, and then there was the time I took a few punches at a senior partner for calling me a fuck-up when I missed an important deadline.”

“Yikes.” I had no idea what to say. I mean, I’d been fired too, but his experience sounded worse. “Was it…the OCD?”

“Yeah. I was really stressed out about basically everything in my life, the direction it had taken. It all felt really out of control.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I didn’t tell her about getting fired right away, and she found out a week later.”

“Was she mad?”

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah. She told me she loved me but I’d better get my shit together before the wedding. Then I told her I wasn’t sure she was the one, and she freaked the fuck out.”

“Ouch.” Although secretly I was pleased. Was that mean of me?

He frowned. “Actually, I said I wasn’t even sure I believed in the idea of the one, but even if I did, I wasn’t sure it was her.”