Page 43 of The Relationship Clause

“No. Do you keep in touch with any of your exes?”

He sighs. “Fair point. But did you tell all of them you were moving to Tennessee?”

“I didn’t tell Shane I was moving to Tennessee.”

“So, one out of fifteen.”

“Excuse me, am I on trial here?”

That zips his lips for a while, and I use the reprieve from his onslaught of questions to take a few deep breaths. No one’s ever pressed me this much about this particular issue of mine, not even Kiera. I usually avoid thinking about it, because lately when I do, it makes me feel…broken.

And it’s not just the dating. Plenty of people date a lot, and it’s totally fine. But for me, it’s the culmination of the dating, the moving from job to job, the avoiding any type of permanent commitment. I almost had a panic attack when I bought this house because it felt like such a permanent thing, but in the end, I convinced myself I could do it because it wouldn’t be forever. It was an investment. Something to use for a couple of years before moving on.

But this is how I live my life. This is how my dad lives his life. He is fine with it. He makes it work. We’re happier like this, not broken. I bet my dad went through a phase like this too, where he worried whether something was wrong with him.

But he got over it. And I will too.

I scrape my putty knife along the floor. The chill in my house is growing deeper, and I’m starting to feel it seeping into my skin despite my physical exertion and my sweater. Or maybe it’s all in my head because of how majorly uncomfortable I am.

“I’m not good at staying in one spot for long. In all aspects of my life,” I blurt.

There. I said it. I said it out loud. I said it out loud to my boss, but I still get points for being honest, don’t I?

There’s a long pause where the only sound is that of my putty knife and Owen’s manly hands ripping things apart.

“Why do you think that is?” he asks.

I shrug. No way am I going to justify my dad, and therefore myself, to him. “I have…reasons. But I’m not ready to talk about them with you, so can we please drop it?”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “That’s fine. But we will talk about this again. Eventually.”

Ha. Not if I have anything to say about it. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How many girlfriends have you had? I figured you were getting all up in my business so I could get in y—”

“Two,” he says matter-of-factly.

I think for a second I didn’t hear him right or that maybe he is joking, but his face says he most certainly isn’t. “You’ve only had two girlfriends in your entire life? I mean, even through middle school and high school?”

“Yep. Although, if you include elementary, I’m pretty sure a girl named Cindy declared I was her boyfriend during recess one day, and we never officially broke up, so maybe I’m not as single as I think I am.” Our gazes meet, and I can see the teasing in his eyes. Another joke. Huh. “Seriously though, the thing with my parents kind of soured relationships for me,” he says, voice low.

Right. That makes total sense. Kiera’s got some hang ups as well, thanks to the disaster that was her home life, though she’s never totally opened up to me about what exactly they are. I wonder what Mr. Ferguson’s particular issues are?

I don’t get a chance to ask anything more though because he says the most magical, beautiful words I’ve ever heard a man speak. “Are you hungry? I was thinking of ordering takeout.”

A short while later, we’re sitting on my floor with an array of Chinese takeout boxes around us.

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of those jack—”

“No,” Owen barks.

I drop my chopsticks and lift both hands beside my head. “Okay, okay, jeez. If you want to freeze like a popsicle, be my guest.”

Owen glares at me over our spread. One thing’s for sure: he and his sister both have excellent taste in takeout. I’ve never tried this particular restaurant before, but I think it might be my new favorite. I’ll have to introduce Kiera to it later this week.

“Is it always this cold in here?” he grumbles.

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