Page 149 of Never Let You Go

I can’t stand the thought of another man with her.

And then my eyes meet hers, and I grind my teeth at the acute awareness that it’s way more than that. I can’t stand the thought of her away from me. At all.

“Did you make your choice?” the waiter asks, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.

“Alexandra?”

“Oh. Ummm… the fiddleheads. And the perch?”

I close my menu. “I’ll have the same.” I need to get my head out of my ass and tell her how I feel about her. I brought her to this restaurant because I thought it would show her Vermont also has fine dining. As if pitting Vermont against New York was the way to go. What was I thinking? I’m going about this all wrong. I’m dead on arrival.

“Good evening,” the sommelier says.

And here we go deciding on pairings. I’d normally enjoy this, but tonight I’m in no mood. I’m painfully drawn back to a similar scene years ago, when I dressed up nicely and paid for lunch and did everything right, but the woman across the table from me still laughed at me and ultimately looked at me like I was something the cat dragged in when she realized I was serious.

“Skye was making your Gram’s sandwich bread recipe with Grace today,” Alexandra says. Shit, I’m not even making small talk with her. I need to pull myself together.

“Was she, now?”

“I don’t think I ever saw those at the bakery.”

She’s right. I don’t sell them. I just don’t want to make them.

“You should think about offering those. I mean… once you’re done with the baking competition. I know that’s pretty taxing, right now. But, starting this summer, you know? Gives you a little time to prepare. I could help you market it in advance, build demand.”

Demand for when you’re gone?

“From what Grace said, it goes really well with barbecues and for sandwiches?” she continues.

I don’t give a shit what I sell or don’t sell once you’re gone.

“You know what would be great for the summer?” I answer, and she looks at me expectantly. “You.”

Her face falls a little. “I—I was thinking of staying a bit longer after the exam, see if I could get some vacation time from Red Barn?”

I huff. Right. Of course. Vacation. And how about the next fifty years, Alexandra?

But I can’t bring myself to ask her the question. I don’t know what she wants, deep down. Is this still about having fun? Or does she want a ring on her finger? Because, if that’s what she wants, I’m dragging her to church right this fucking minute.

Hell, if I wasn’t close to certain she’d publicly reject me, I’d be on one knee right this minute with a rock the size of Mount Mansfield if that’s what it’ll take.

“You’re freaking me out,” she says, her gaze on my hands balled into fists around my cutlery.

forty-three

Alexandra

We get home late at night, and he lets me go first up the stairs. But soon his hand is between my thighs, and I laugh, until my high heels betray me, and I almost fall down on him.

That’s when he scoops me in his arms and carries me up the stairs.

When we reach his floor, I glance at his room, then look away.

“I don’t want memories of you here. Told you already.”

It’s bittersweet to hear. I’m not sure what to make of it.

I chase away what Grace told me this afternoon—that Christopher loves me. That can’t be true. This is wishful thinking on her part, and I love her for that.

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