Devil You Know(13)
I vow as I walk inside with the empty laundry basket that I’ll never read a romance novel again.
They’re seriously fucking with my expectations of the world.
• • • • •
FOUR DAYS later, he speaks to me again.
“Jane.”
I juggle the handful of tomatoes I’ve picked from the plants that cling to the side of our garden shed.
“Jesus. Stop sneaking up on me.”
“Would you rather I came to the front door?” the fence replies.
He has a point. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.”
It wasn’t? “I’m listening.”
“Can you get away from the house at all? On your own?”
Snuffles sound near my feet, and I can imagine how Rocco will be doing his utmost to jam his nose through the tiny gap under the palings. “Does groceries on a Thursday count?”
Midnight Savior chuckles on the other side of the fence. I swear there’s a part of me in a puddle at my feet. “Of course. Where do you shop?”
“The market on Garrison.” Why is my heart racing? I look at my hands, the pink flush on the edge of my palms indicating I’m not imagining the clamminess.
“I’ll see you there. What time?”
“Nine-ish?”
The swish of grass under his feet, and the light rattle of the catch on Rocco’s collar tell me which way they’ve gone. I stand there, shamelessly looking at that fence as I imagine him and Rocco on the other side, walking away from me. Every step he takes deflates the little swell of happiness I clutched onto whilst talking to him. Every step he takes brings me back to the world about me: my house, my yard, my husband. The awareness raises my nerves, somewhat.
What does he want to see me for? What is it that can’t be said through the fence? God, he probably wants to ask me to take Rocco back. How long did I expect him to keep him for? What kind of idiot am I, abusing another’s goodwill like that?
“Jane! What are you doing?”
Chills prickle over my flesh. “Coming, honey.”
Dylan stands, hands on hips, and positively glowers at me. Did he see me talking? Does he know? “My lunch won’t make itself,” he barks.
No—it won’t.
Pity.
TO SAY Thursday feels like any other day in my shitty existence would be a blatant lie. I woke up this morning humming. For the first time in as long as I can remember I have something to look forward to.
Nerves swirl throughout me as I approach my regular supermarket. It’s a family-run store, and I know the place like the back of my hand. I know where everything Dylan likes is shelved, and if you ask me, I can probably tell you their prices, too.
Usually, the trip is done with such robotic precision that I’ve found myself unpacking the bags at home and staring at a can in my hand, trying to remember when I picked it up.
Today though, I’m alert. I’m wired. I’m full of anticipation.
Because he’ll be here.
I do my best to scan the parking lot and entrance as I approach without looking over-eager. A piece of my hope chips away with every empty sweep, and as I reach for the blue handle of a trolley, my mind begins its switch back over to autopilot.
“Starting without me?”
The simple lull of his words jolts me back to my senses with such force I have to close my eyes to stop a damn head-rush taking me over.
“You okay?” He gently touches my arm, and ducks his head down to make eye contact.
“Fine,” I lie. “Probably need to drink more water is all.”
“Yeah.” He nods, his scrutinizing stare saying he totally doesn’t buy my bullshit for a second. “It is pretty dry today.”
“Are you . . .?” I gesture to the trolleys.
He shakes his head. “No. Only here to see you.”
A blush peppers my face. I can’t get through the turnstile and put him behind me fast enough. He catches up when I pause to get bananas, and takes the helm of the trolley.
“Did you need to talk to me about something?” I ask, avoiding looking at him at all costs. One look in those eyes, and shame will render me speechless—shame at the impure thoughts I’ve been having about a man other than my husband.
Who do I think he is? My Prince Charming? My knight in shining armor?
“Yeah, I do need to talk to you, actually.”
He pushes the trolley beside me for a while in silence. I place my items in as he follows. No way will I force the subject. Whatever he wants to say, it doesn’t appear easy, and I’ve never been the type to welcome bad news.
We round the corner to the meat section, and he absently runs his finger along the front of the metal shelving before he speaks. “I found somewhere for you to stay.”