Page 12 of Be My Reason

He is smiling at me, probably assessing me the way I am him. “Brooklyn, you look beautiful. I knew you would.”

Knew I would?

“Um. . . thanks. You look nice, too.”What else was I supposed to say?“And my name isLyn.” I look away and try to feign interest in the other conversation going on at the table. I am willing Emma to include me in it so that I can start breathing again.

She doesn’t let me down when she looks over and finds me staring a hole into the side of her beauty-queen head. “So, Lyn opened her own bakery a few years ago and it is doing really great. She is also about to earn her business degree,” she says with the pride of a true best friend.

Thankfully, Graham seems genuinely interested in my business and I am in my element talking about my one true passion.I glance over and notice that Nate seems ticked off about being left out of the conversation.Ha!

The waitress comes over and asks for our orders.I pray that nobody orders something that takes a long time to make. The quicker we get out of here, the better.

Graham and Emma are engaged in a discussion about the conference.Nate is fiddling with his phone. Why is he acting like nothing happened? Like he didn’t take my virginity and throw it on the ground and stomp all over it. I still can’t believe I’m sitting across from him after eight years. I want to yell at him. I want to reach into his chest and rip out his heart so that he can understand what it feels like to have someone dangle love at you like a carrot and then whisk it away without so much as a word of explanation. I want to tell him what it was like to be a young girl in love with a legend at school, only to become the butt of jokes when he left suddenly, leaving me a heap of melted mess on the floor of the school bathroom.

But I don’t. I remain quiet about all of it. I don’t want him to know how he ruined me. How he crushed my heart, rendering it incapable of feeling until years later. Until I found Michael.

Oh, God. What’ll I tell Michael? He will freak out, won’t he? I mean, he’s not really the jealous type but he knows how much Nate hurt me so he will be pissed. He will probably want me to come home. I shouldn’t tell him. Yes, I should. I don’t want to keep anything from him. I’ll tell him when we talk tonight, by then this will be over and I will never have to see Nate again. So, it’s settled. I’ll tell him.Maybe.

I become less comfortable with the next topic of conversation.Graham smiles over at me. “So, Lyn, when is the big day?”

Nate perks up and breaks his silence. “What big day would that be?”

“Oh, didn’t Graham tell you that Lyn is getting married?”She has a huge bitchy smile on her face like she just told him the ending of a movie he hadn’t seen yet.

Nate takes in a sharp breath. “No.” He gives Graham a what-the-hell look. “No, he didn’t mention that. Who is the lucky bastard?” he asks while staring me down.

Oh, so now he wants to talk. “His name is Michael,” I say.

“Michael?” He snorts. “Michael? Sounds like he changes toner cartridges and wears a pocket protector.” NowI’mthe one givinghima what-the-hell-look.

“Dude!” Graham elbows him and gives him a disapproving look.

“Actually,” Emma pipes in, “Michael is a doctor doing his residency in pediatric cardiology down in Savannah.”She squeezes my leg under the table. I could high five her right now. I’ve never used Michael’s job to make him or me look better, and I had no intention of bringing it up tonight, but damn, to see the look on Nate’s face—so worth it. He looks like he just ate a lemon. Or maybe a little crow.

“So, Nathan Riley,” shesays to him, spitting out his name like it tastes bad coming out of her mouth, “I thought you were going to be a big baseball player or something, yet here you are at an architectural convention.”Oh, boy, Emma is unleashed.

If looks could kill, Emma would be dead.His phone chirps and thankfully, he ignores her attack and his temper is now directed towards whoever was on the other end of that text. He slams it back on the table muttering something about a bitch and then he runs his hand through his hair. Wow, I may be engaged to be married but I’m not dead. It is still flat-out sexy when he does that.

“Claudia?” Graham asks Nate.

“None other. The bitch won’t leave me alone,” he responds.

“Girlfriend?”I raise my eyebrows at him in question. I know it’s been eight years and all, but the thought of someone you once loved, or thought you loved, with another person, even if you hate that someone right now, is not a pleasant thought.

“Ex-wife,” he says, and nowI’mthe one with my mouth hanging open and blood draining from my face.

Emma coughsup her Diet Coke for the second time tonight. Thankfully it was in the other direction this time. “You were married?” she asks in utter disbelief.

“Briefly,” he says, his left hand coming up to rub on his right bicep. I think I see the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his t-shirt. It looks like some kind of script. He rubs it absentmindedly and stares out the window of the restaurant.

He was married?I shouldn’t care about this. I am about to be married myself. Then why does it feel like a sledge hammer just hit my heart?

Our food arrives and interrupts what was bound to be a thorough Q & A session from Emma about his failed marriage.I study the clock on the wall thinking that I just need to get through this dinner and show him that I have a good life, and then get on with my life. I mean, I have a great guy and my dream job. He doesn’t seem to have anything that he wanted at age seventeen. Divorced at twenty-five? Well, of course he is. He is a playboy. I saw it myself. Why would anyone get married to a guy like that? He called that . . . Claudia, a bitch.Hmmpf. . . I bet she’s nice and beautiful and in a world of hurt dealing with his philandering ways. Maybe we could start a club.

I’m pulled from the thought when I hear a high-pitched, “Hi Nate,” coming in tandem from two tall gorgeous women passing by our table. He lifts his chin and winks at them and they giggle as they walk out of the restaurant.Did they really just giggle?

Nate and I struggle to make idle conversation while Graham and Emma are hitting if off big time. “So,” Nate says, “what are you going to do all day at the hotel when Emma is at the conference?”

“Study for my finals.” I’m deliberately being short because I have no desire to have a heart-to-heart with him. “And run.”

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