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She ignores me as she crosses the living area to stand by the windows looking out at the view of the lake. She sighs, then turns around to lean against the windows and drags her sunglasses off. “Don’t pretend you haven’t missed me.”
“Okay.” It hadn’t occurred to me to pretend I had any feelings for her one way or another.
“I know how hard the past year has been on you.”
“You do?”
She walks over to me with an exaggerated sway in her hips, tossing her sunglasses onto the side table as she does, stopping only a few inches from me, before reaching up to cup my jaw in her hands.
She keeps my jaw in her hands and gazes up at me. “I know I hurt you. We hurt each other.”
God, I hate it when she does this shit. When she treats every moment as if it’s being filmed. As if this isn’t a life, but a carefully scripted scene meant to evoke drama and emotion. To her, I’m not a person. I’m a set piece. A bit of background for her to interact with, that shows her in her best light.
“That’s why you’ve been hiding out here in isolation for a year.”
I move to step back away from her touch but realize she’s got me backed against the wall.
“I haven’t been hiding.”
“None of our friends have seen you in months. I thought I would see you at South By, but you weren’t there.”
“Our friends?” I wasn’t really aware we had any friends in common, since she and Martin never got along and she described everyone I worked with as socially stunted and impossibly dull.
“Yes, our friends.” She rattles off a list of names I barely recognize. A few I vaguely remember as being social media influencers in town. None of them are people I would call friends.
Before I can say as much, she rises on her toes like she’s going to kiss me, murmuring, “You poor, poor man.”
Backed against the wall or no, she’s gotten too close. I cup her shoulders so I can extract myself and order her to leave. Before I can, the front door opens and Savannah bursts in.
I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life. She’s still dressed in the tank top and overalls she was wearing earlier. Her feet are bare, which suggests she walked all the way down the gravel driveway from the cottage here barefoot. She’s out of breath; I can see her chest rising and falling.
She scans the room, her gaze landing on Ava and me. I know exactly how it looks: Ava standing too close, one hand on my jaw, the other on my chest, my hands on her arms, like I’m about to pull her to me.
Even I, who struggle to grasp the subtleties of social interactions, can see that this is a shit show.
* * *
Savannah
* * *
I run at breakneck speed down the gravel driveway to the main house, desperately wishing I’d actually stopped to put on shoes. Ian said the gravel driveway is great for the environment—something to do with impervious surfaces and the water table—but it’s hell on bare feet.
The gleaming white SUV passes me on the way down and I have to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. By the time I reach the main house, I’m even more out of breath than I was when I walked up the hill earlier, as improbable as that seems.
I throw open the door, still scrubbing my feet on the doormat to dislodge the gravel lodged in my soles. The second I look up and see the scene before me, panic sets in for real.
They are obviously in an embrace. He’s about to kiss her. When he turns to look at me, jaw tight, brows knitted, I know my interruption has pissed him off.
I flinch back instinctively, my breath still coming in short bursts from my run down the hill.
Fuck.
Should I leave?
What am I doing here, anyway?
He’s a grown man who can make his own decisions and who is clearly still in love with his ex.
