Page 17 of Wall

My insides drop.

“You’re not going anywhere near this guy again. I’ll go get the ring. You make dinner. Get those brown-and-serve rolls, too.”

“That’s a lot of carbs.”

“I can handle the carbs.” His lips twitch. Then he reaches out and flicks the pom-pom on top of my knit cap. “I like your hat.”

My face burns. Jerk. I know it’s a stupid-looking hat. It has a tassel, for goodness’ sake. Does he think he looks all that in bright orange? Shit. He does look amazing.

I stare at my hands in my lap. John nudges me with his thigh. It’s quiet except for the muffled music coming from the clubhouse.

I breathe out, close my eyes for a second, collect myself. John’s never been cruel on purpose. If you don’t count that last night when he came home late. He’s teasing me. I’m just not used to it anymore.

“Thanks. I like your coat.”

“This old thing.” He grins, and tries to tug it closed, but there’s a good inch-wide gap. “I do get a lot of attention in it.”

“Helps when you land the airplanes, eh?”

“Or when you need an emergency cone, yeah. Comes in handy.”

I can’t help but smile, but the good feeling fades quickly. We’re left sitting next to each other on a log in the bitter cold, awkward and lost for words.

“What if I said forget about it?” I keep my eyes glued on an outbuilding. A bird has left tracks winding all over the snow on its roof.

“I’d still get you that ring. Then you’d feel guilty and make me dinner anyway.”

“Inevitable, is it?”

“Yup.”

Even though I’m sitting firmly on my butt, I feel unsteady. How did I get here? The drive’s a blur. I don’t think I’ve ever been that out-of-my-mind in my life. I was driving on instinct, and I came here. Such a huge decision, and I didn’t think about it for even a second.

I’ve done a good job of getting over John Wall. There were days early on when I couldn’t breathe. I remember collapsing on the floor in the bedroom andbawling, hating myself ‘cause I couldn’t pull myself together.

That was a long time ago now.

Why would I let him back in? Even for a dinner? I don’t need to make peace with him. I’ve been managing fine alone. Doing good, actually. Making something of myself.

He’s absolutely quiet and still while my brain whirrs. I open the water and take a sip so it’s not so weird, sitting here in silence.

He’s not asking for sex. Or a second chance. He wants dinner.

Maybe he wants to bury the hatchet, come to a place where we’re not friends, but we’re friendly. That would make the whole “landlord” situation easier. I’ve had to scrounge money when the toilet clogs or a shingle gets blown off the roof. If we were on speaking terms, I could let him know, deduct the cost of repairs out of the rent. That would be a great help.

Maybe I’m making excuses.

Heck, it’s just dinner. I was going to make something anyway. Might as well make meatloaf. I don’t need to go to the store. I have all the ingredients at home. I’d only have to defrost the ground beef.

He’s doing me a favor. I can do one for him. It doesn’t have to be more than that.

An ugly voice inside me snarls, “Why would you dothat manany favors?” My bitter side. She had a lot to say when John and I first split.

I sigh. I don’t like my bitter side. She makes me feel worse. Like I’m a sucker and a loser,andI’m spiteful besides.

Hell. It’s only meatloaf. “All right. When?”

He answers instantly. “Tonight.”

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