Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,70

to do.” I can’t even say it.

And now here I am staring into those stark green eyes. Confusion pierces into the fog of emotions roiling through me. He does appear sincerely contrite. His brows are down.

He walks around his desk to approach me, hands out.

“I didn’t know—"

“You didn’t know? You said it’s not important when that…man said you were fucking the cupcake woman.”

He winces. “Oliver is a dick. And that’s not what I meant.”

I want to believe him. I want it so bad I can taste it. But all my old insecurities and doubts are banging against my ribs, harder than my heart is pounding, beating me up from the inside out. I always make bad decisions with men. And this was a colossal mistake, from the beginning, and this time I knew it. And still, I thought, once again, that I would be enough to make someone care. I was wrong.

“Well it meant something to me. And now it means we’re done.” My voice cracks on the last work, but it doesn’t affect him.

The shutters fall over his eyes. He steps back, face impassive, the old emotionless mask I once knew. “You haven’t even let me explain. You’re really going to let this get between us?” The words aren’t a plea for forgiveness, they’re remote. Cold. He really doesn’t care.

No one ever does. How could I have expected more?

“I didn’t let anything get between us. You did,” I say.

“I told you I would find a mutually beneficial solution and I still intend to.”

How can I believe him? His other words are still ringing in my head. Not important.

I can’t stand here and gaze at his beautiful, distant face. It’s too much. And so, I do the thing I’ve been trying not to do all along.

I run.

Getting to Blue Falls, Texas from New York is quite a trip. All I could afford was a terrible flight on the worst airline ever with no snacks and three layovers on Christmas Day. And that’s not even the end, because once I got to the airport, I had to rent a car and drive an hour to get home. We’re only staying two days, including today, so in forty-eight hours we get to fly home in misery again.

Bah humbug.

“I’m so glad we’re both alone on Christmas.”

To top it all off, I have had to listen to Fred talk the entire time.

“We aren’t alone,” I say.

“I mean, we have each other. You’re right, I shouldn’t negate that. And our families. But you know, we don’t have men anymore. If this was, like Regency England, we would be total old spinster maids. On the shelf. Long in the tooth. Did you know, the phrase originally derived from horses? Their teeth never stop growing.”

I sigh and tune her out.

It’s been a week since I last saw Guy.

He tried to call me. Once. I didn’t answer, and he hasn’t tried again.

I haven’t been parking next to his restaurant, even though I could. I had some last-minute catering gigs before the holidays to take care of, which I did from my home and the commissary. I’ve spent a lot of time with Fred’s family, eating terrible vegan food and absorbing the warmth of a loving family like it might jolt me back to my former self.

But I don’t know if former Scarlett is ever coming back. It’s like a change in the Gregorian Calendar. There’s Before Guy and After Guy. But…whatever that would be in Latin. Fred’s family is really rubbing off on me.

At least now, I’ll get to see my actual family. I’m excited, but also exhausted and drained, wrung out like an old dish rag.

Pulling up the gravel drive, memories flood me. Images flickering in my mind like an old timey video. Riding bikes down the lane with Reese—who I would make bundle up in a helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, and any other kind of pad I could find. Playing in the sprinkler in the grass in the front yard. Granny yelling at us to wash our hands after catching toads in the pond over yonder, behind the house.

I can’t believe it’s been two years. I stop and stare up at the familiar, colorful monstrosity of my childhood home.

“Wow,” Fred says. “Are those shutters orange?”

“Yes.” I try to see the house from a stranger’s viewpoint, but I can’t. Yes, it’s colorful and kinda weird, from the bright yellow rocking chair on the porch to the red trim and blue shingles. But to me it’s just