I’m taken aback by the urgency in her voice. I do know I have another opportunity right now. I’ve just never had anyone say it out loud to me before.
“Ronnie.” Jordan’s voice is firm. “Leave her alone.”
“She needs to hear the truth.” She turns and taps him lightly on the chest with her index finger. “Follow me. I’ve got a special table for you two.”
Her quick change of subject leaves me reeling. Well, that and the fact that Jordan told her about our relationship.
Talk about weird.
The moment Ronnie hands us our menus and walks away, I’m leaning across the table, my gaze locked on Jordan’s. “What was that all about?”
“I used to come here a lot, especially during my first season.” He opens up the menu, then immediately shuts it and sets it on the table, as if he’s already made up his mind. “I had a thing for their burritos. Still do.”
“Great. So Ronnie gave you a burrito and you told her about your love life?”
“Yeah. So?” He shrugs, oh so nonchalant. I sort of want to punch him.
And I also sort of want to hug him.
“You don’t even know her,” I point out.
“I do too. She’s nice. Nicer than my mother’s ever been.” His tone is bitter, and my heart aches for him.
“So Ronnie is like a mother figure.”
“During my first season, I came in here once a week. She’d always ask me why I didn’t have a woman in my life, and that led me to confess about our relationship,” he admits.
Sighing, I drop my head, studying the menu, though I’m barely focused enough to read my dinner options. “Great. She probably hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he assures me.
“I can’t believe you told her everything.” I decide on street tacos with carnitas and shut my menu.
“I was hurt.” He shrugs.
In my head, I calculate how many years are between our break up and his first season. “But that was what? Three years after we split? Four? And you were still hurt?”
He rests his hand over his heart. “You’ve always had a major effect on me.”
“Are you trying to make me feel like shit?” Because it’s totally working.
Jordan drops his hand over mine, completely engulfing it. “No, I’m just being honest. You had your issues, and I had mine.”
I blink at him, hating the sting of tears that appear out of nowhere. I don’t want to cry. Not here, in the middle of his favorite Mexican restaurant with Ronnie the mother figure watching us. My timing is all wrong. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything.
“I figured you were so busy, you’d get over me quick,” I continue.
His eyes dim and he slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know how you ever believed that was possible.”
Ronnie suddenly appears, a tiny notepad and pen in hand. “Are you two done living in the past and ready for me to take your drink order?”
Her words make me sit up straight, and Jordan removes his hand from mine. I order a glass of water, the words coming out of my mouth automatically, though I’m thinking of something else. What she said. How she said it, the tone of her voice no-nonsense.
Are you two done living in the past?
The past is there. Undeniable. But Ronnie’s right. I’m too hung up on it. Too worried about what I did to him versus thinking of what we could possibly do together. Here.