Page 23 of An Engagement Pact

Dan pulls back too.

A few quick looks at his face show that he’s just as affected as I am by the brief kiss. He looks bemused. Bewildered. And disappointed.

I rub my face. “I’m sorry. I just... don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” he says almost immediately, giving himself a subtle shake.

I know what he’s going to do next. The real Dan is going to disappear beneath the nonchalant pose, and it’s entirely my fault for rejecting him.

The real him.

He does exactly what I expect him to. Laughs in his characteristic dry, relaxed manner. “You’re right. We should be smart about this. No getting distracted by that kind of thing.”

He’s trying to smooth over the moment, bring us back to the easy, companionable relationship we had before.

But it feels terrible somehow. Everything feels terrible.

Because it’s the mask again and not the real man.

***

THE FOLLOWING DAY ISa Sunday, a day I normally get off from work. But the weekend person had plans today, and I offered to help out—mostly so I can get paid overtime.

I’m busy all day, and my last stop at about seven is to feed and let out a couple of dogs whose owners are out of town. Normally this would be fine, but Dan wants me to go to a friend’s birthday party this evening, so I have to rush back to get ready for the party right afterward.

I feel bad for the dogs since they aren’t used to being left alone for so long. Instead of speeding through the tasks, I stay a little longer to let them run a few extra laps around the backyard and get a little more attention. So by the time I arrive back home, Dan is already there, waiting for me.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I burst in and see him sitting at the kitchen table and chatting with Jim and Esther, who have clearly just finished their dinner. “The dogs were clingy, and I’m a big pushover.”

Dan laughs, appearing supremely unconcerned. “No big deal.”

“I still have to get ready, but I’ll be as quick as I can. I hate making other people late!”

“It’s a party. No one is going to care that we’re late. Everyone always comes at different times anyway.”

I know that is true about those kinds of casual parties, and normally it’s not like I’d arrive right on time myself. But I always feel bad when other people are left waiting for me, and I still feel awkward around Dan after yesterday.

I’m flustered and self-conscious as I run upstairs, strip out of my clothes, and jump into the shower for about four minutes so I can soap up and rinse off so I don’t smell so much like dog. I’ve already planned my outfit, and it should work fine with what Dan is wearing—jeans and an untucked gray button-up shirt. I pull on dark stretchy jeans and a sleeveless dark green top that looks relatively casual but also like I made an effort.

After doing some quick makeup and brushing out my hair and leaving it loose, I hurry back downstairs.

“Nine minutes,” Dan says, smiling as he looks at his watch. “Very impressive. And you look great.”

I glance down at myself, pleased by the compliment to both my appearance and the speed of my dressing. “Thanks. I assume people aren’t going to dress up too much for this party.”

“No. You look perfect.” His eyes run up and down my body before shifting them purposefully up to my face. “Thanks for going with me.”

“Of course.” I turn to smile at Jim and Esther, who are observing our interaction with silent amusement. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, so I’ll see y’all in the morning.”

“Have fun, Vicky. Don’t drink too much.” Esther smiles to prove her last comment is teasing.

I know she’s teasing. I had one embarrassing drunken incident when my mom and I were visiting them when I was in high school, and she’s never let me forget it. She knows perfectly well I’m not much of a drinker, and she wouldn’t lecture me about it anyway.

When Dan and I leave the house, he asks, “Why doesn’t she want you to drink? I’m the one driving, so you can drink what you want.”

“She’s just joking. I almost never drink more than a glass or two at the most. I don’t actually enjoy being tipsy like some people do.”

He gives me a curious look as he opens his car door for me. “Why not?”

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