I’m about to say I need to go back in when he speaks. “And how does he make you feel? Do you want him?” He looks like he wants to say more, but he holds himself back, biting his tongue.
I know this is hurt talking because if I were walking in on him on a date, I’d be gutted. Fuck, it happened when I thought his ex-wife was a current woman. It tore me up.
I sigh. “No, I don’t want him. But I still need a little more time to think.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I better—”
He cuts me off. “Get back to your date.”
“Not like that, but I’m sure it’s embarrassing for him, and it’s not his fault he’s in the middle of this.”
“I’ll let you go,” he says, and adds, “Bye.”
Fucking hell, this sucks.
He turns, and I reach out to grab his arm. “Marc.”
When he looks back at me, his gaze goes to my hand on him, and I slide it down his arm and touch his hand briefly, loving the touch of his skin on mine. “Your jacket.”
His face falls. Was he expecting something else?
“My jacket,” he repeats before he watches me slide it off and hand it to him.
I stand here and watch him rest it over his arm instead of putting it back on, then he’s walking away. I realize he never even got his dinner.
I can’t seem to move my feet from the sidewalk until he disappears and I can no longer see him.
I sigh loudly and head back inside, ready to apologize to my date and explain I need to get home.
“You’re home early. Was the date that bad?” Ava asks as she answers the phone.
“No. There was nothing wrong with him. But something happened.”
“What happened?” she asks as she munches on something.
“So, we were sitting there, and he was nice, but there were no sparks or anything, you know.”
“Oh, damn it. But at least you’re back out there.”
That makes me sit upright on the couch, clutching the phone. “Oh, no. There will be no more dates.”
“Why? You need to try another guy. He might not be the right one.”
“No. Marc is the right one.”
“Oh, so you made a decision?”
“No, but guess who walked into the restaurant tonight?”
She gasps. “He didn’t fucking follow you, did he?”
“No, of course not.” I frown at her suggestion. “He was picking up takeout dinner, and he saw me.”
“What did he do?”
I ease back onto the couch. “He came up to the table, mad as hell, and asked what I was doing?”