“Good,” I answer stiffly. Awkwardly.
“Where are you working nowadays?”
And it’s that question that throws me back into a memory I’ve tried so hard to forget, the one that started me on my road to being forever single and that made me never want to get close to anyone, even friends, ever again.
But instead of shrinking away from the memory—of raised voices, of my ripped-up acceptance letter to a prestigious photography program, of his subsequent and pityingit’s not you, it’s mebreakup speech—I straighten my spine and look him directly in the eye.
“I’m a photojournalist,” I tell him proudly.
And it’s there, in the barely-perceptible flash of disappointment, that I see he still thinks of me the same way he did on the night of our high school graduation. That I should’ve gone to college for a real degree, and not pursued my hobby as if it was a sustainable career.
Not for the thousandth time, I regret passing on the program that eighteen-year-old Dani was accepted to. And I hate her a little bit for eventhinkingabout following Matt to his out-of-state college like an obedient little puppy.
Thank God he broke up with me.
“That’s amazing, Dani,” he says, the lie freezing his lips into a tight line.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, never looking away from him. “It is.”
I snap back to reality when I feel Aiden looking between Matt and I. There's a frown on his face as he studies the interaction, as he tries to read between the lines of our reactions to each other. But something about it tells him not to insert himself into the conversation.
After a few tense seconds, Matt aims an awkward glance at Aiden, then down to the space between us that wasn’t there a minute ago. He swallows roughly then mumbles, “Well… it was good to see you. Have a good night."
He pushes past us on the street, and in a flash, Aiden and I are alone again.
For a moment, I can only stand frozen on the sidewalk.
"I'm going to assume that was the ex that turned you off of relationships," Aiden says. And when I hear how stiff his tone is, I turn to him in surprise.
Sure enough, his mouth is a tight line on his face. I don't think I've ever seen a version of Aiden that wasn't smiling—or at least playfully unhappy—so this one throws me off a bit.
"Yes," I say slowly. "We dated in high school."
"So, years ago," he confirms. His studies me for a moment, seeming to weigh his next words. "Do you still love him?"
"What?" I ask in surprise. "Of course not. We were kids when we broke up."
His stare remains thoughtful, though controlled. I have no idea what he's thinking.
I don't like it. I want the Aiden back from ten minutes ago, the one that I was wrapped around and joking with in the diner.
Stepping closer to him, I offer a shaky smile and reach for his hand that I was holding not long ago.
And I’m shocked when Aiden takes a step back and pulls his hand away from mine.
"So then why was him seeing us holding hands so disgusting for you?" he asks, and now, I can definitely hear the tone.
"That's not what—" I sputter.
"Is it really that bad being seen with me?"
I grimace and look away. "You know it's not you. I just don't need that in my life."
"Yeah, that would be theworst," he says, his words coming out with a slight bite.
My head whips to face him. "Come on, Aiden, that's not fair. I've never been anything but honest with you about how I feel." Swallowing roughly, I force myself to take a step back, sensing I need to back up my words with some distance. I've alreadybroken two of my rules tonight—first with a dinner date and then with being way too affectionate with him—so the last thing I need is to give Aiden more mixed signals. "I'm sorry I hurt you when I pulled away just now. That wasn't a reflection on you. But I shouldn't have been holding your hand in the first place. We're friends, and that's a line I shouldn't have crossed—"
His gaze flares with anger at those words. So I decide to try a different tactic.