Page 3 of From Now On

Ben nods. Swallows. “Okay.”

He looks miserable, but I don’t gain any satisfaction from it.

I get why he changed his mind. Ben’s responsible and steady. He’s not a risk taker. For months, he’s gotten this wrinkle between his eyes when the topic of New York has come up. I knew he was stressed about money and worried about finding an apartment, but I thought he was excited about film school and a new chapter in a new place. It never occurred to me that he would change his mind. That Ben was evencapableof blindsiding me like this.

I underestimated the allure of safety. Overestimated how much he loved me.

I stumble as I stand, nearly knocking my wineglass off the table. Shattering glass would be a more appropriate sound to accompany this moment.

Because that’s what Ben and I are—irrevocably broken. This awful moment, those five words, will always sit between us. I’ll never be able to go back to thebefore. We’re ruined.

I’m not mad.

I’m shocked, recalibrating to a new reality.

I’m sad.

La Bella Napoli is fancy. As fancy as Somerville gets, at least. The restaurant’s restrooms are single-person ones with plush cloth towels and soap scented like lavender and a vase of eucalyptus next to the sink. I’m most appreciative of the fact I won’t have to worry about anyone coming in while I sob in a stall, but the soothing scents are nice too.

Standing in front of the mirror, studying the bouncy curls it took me an hour to style and arrange, no tears come. I study my somber expression, my face so pale that the few freckles on mynose stand out in stark contrast. I sniffle a couple of times, but that’s it.

For the best, honestly. This evening is humiliating enough without spending the rest of the night with red, swollen eyes. My body still feels numb, and I silently pray this apathy will last long enough for me to get home, grab the emergency stash of vodka out of the freezer, and cry on my best friend’s shoulder. Harlow will know what to say to make this shitty night better. She’ll also suggest we egg Ben’s car or tissue-paper his house.

The sooner I leave this bathroom, the sooner I’ll be home. I wash my hands with a thick lather of lavender soap and hot water, then step back into the hallway.

My eyes fall to the floor as I resent each step forward. I don’t want to return to that table. Sit back in that chair. Look at?—

I collide with a hard body. A hard body that does not belong to Ben.

I know that instantly. It doesn’t smell like Ben. It’s taller than Ben. And it’s not Ben’s voice that says, “Eve?”

A rapid flurry of flutters appears in my stomach, the jolt of giddiness fracturing former numbness. The same silly sensation that appears every damn time I see Hunter Morgan.

Tonight is only the second time I haven’t felt guilty about the strange reaction.

Hunter raises his left eyebrow, the one split by what I assume is a hockey injury, and that’s when I realize that I haven’t moved. That I’m standing and staring at him. Inhaling his masculine scent and absorbing the heat of his body.

I jerk away like I was just electrocuted, heat flooding my face. Everywhere that was pressed against him tingles.

So, basically my entire body consists of crackling nerves.

“Hi. Hunter. Hi.”

One corner of his mouth kicks up as I babble out a flustered greeting. That’s as amused as I’ve ever seen him—slightly smiling. “Hey, Eve.”

I wonder if girls invade Hunter’s personal space a lot, because he seems completely unfazed by how I just collided with him. My guess is yes, and not accidentally.

“Sorry about that.” I gesture between us. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He knows you’re a klutz, Eve. No need to draw more attention to it.

Hunter doesn’t acknowledge my apology. He asks, “Are you okay?” and peers at my face more closely than I’d like, considering I was just almost crying.

“Fine,” I chirp. “Great.”

Then I remember that his best friend is dating my best friend. Harlow tells Conor everything, and hockey players gossip a lot, based on how many rumors Conor shares with Harlow. Sooner or later, Hunter will hear why I was distracted enough to overlook a six-foot-something hockey player in my path on the short walk from the restrooms to the restaurant.

I decide on sooner.

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