over my heart. My mind ran wild. Where were they? At a restaurant talking? Or at a hotel, in his bed, making up?
No. She wouldn’t. We’d just been together last night. She wouldn’t, right?
Fuck, even the thought of her letting him hold her hand sent me into a meltdown.
He was here to get back with her—I had no doubt in my mind. The only thing I didn’t know was what she was going to do about it.
Watching her leave fucking killed me.
But I had no right to her at all. I didn’t even have the right to be upset. This was the guy—the one she’d been heartbroken over for the last month.
He was the guy, and I was no one.
I paced the garage. I paced the house. She was always home when I was there and the vacancy inside made my anxiety worse, reinforced the wrongness of it all. So I went back outside where at least I wasn’t looking at her empty couch.
My stomach grumbled, but I couldn’t eat. Even Stuntman Mike was worked up. He kept crying and looking at the driveway, following me around my workstation like he’d witnessed her kidnapping and was pissed I hadn’t done anything to stop it. Finally I just put him in his satchel and carried him around with me.
6:00.
7:00.
8:00.
There was only so late I could stay before it became obvious I’d been waiting for her. I’d never worked past 9:00 p.m. before. But if I left and just went home, I’d never know when she came back, or how she came back. Happy? Sad? Tomorrow, wearing the same clothes?
And what if he didn’t just drop her off? What if he came back to stay the night? I bet the fucker would love to rub that shit in my face. He’d probably do a goddamn victory lap.
Every car that drove by made my heart pound and head jerk up.
Maybe I should leave. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing them as a couple. I told myself if she wasn’t back by 9:00, I would go. Because the later it got, the more likely it was they were staying the night together—here or elsewhere. And either way it was better if I didn’t know about it.
Finally, at 8:17, a maroon Nissan pulled into the driveway.
She came back in an Uber.
Alone.
My relief was a thousand-pound weight off my chest. I could finally breathe again.
Three hours. They could have just been in a restaurant. The drive there, the drive back—that easily could have been one hour of the three. She didn’t stay the night with him. And after everything, she only gave him a few hours and didn’t let him come back with her? Maybe this was a good sign.
I took off the satchel—I’d rather die than let her see me use her dog purse—and made it look like I was busy laying carpet on the already finished steps and not sitting in the garage waiting for her to come home like a lovesick puppy dog.
She got out of the car and came in through the garage, holding her sweater in her hand, dragging the sleeve along the driveway. Stuntman Mike ran to meet her, bouncing and crying at her feet, but she didn’t reach down to pick him up.
“Hey,” I said casually as she approached. “I’m just finishing up here.”
She stopped in front of me and studied me wordlessly. I tried to figure out what happened from the way she looked.
She hadn’t gotten dressed up to go out with him. That was good. But her lipstick was gone. Was that because they ate? Or because they’d been kissing? Had they fought the whole time? Is that why her shoulders were slumped? Her eyes were red. A little mascara smeared, like she’d been crying.
“Josh? Do you want to go sing karaoke with me?”
I blinked at her. “Karaoke?”
She sniffed, looking at me tiredly. “I feel a spree coming on. It’s either a cleaning spree or a singing spree. Singing might be healthier.”
I grinned at her. “Yeah. Sounds like fun.”
She smiled weakly at me. “Okay. And you have to feed me. Like, soon.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t feed you?” She hadn’t eaten before they left. They’d taken off over three hours ago. Damn, that fucker played with fire.
I hoped she was a nightmare the whole time.
“He kinda fed me.” She grimaced. “I had some deconstructed Chilean sea bass ceviche tapenade thingy.”
I scoffed. “Is that even food?”
“I have no idea. I’m starving,” she mumbled, turning for