Page 92 of Jilted

“Because then he would know.”

Wilder’s forehead wrinkled. “Know what?”

“About us.”

“So?”

“It’s where I work. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

Wilder got quiet. I walked over and rested my palms against his chest. “If people at work know that I’m dating the boss’s son, they’re going to make assumptions and talk. That type of stuff sticks. They’ll look at me funny even when we aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

Wilder pulled his neck back. “You’re planning for the fallout from our breakup already?”

“No, that’s not what I’m doing, but—”

He shook his head with a frown. “Whatever. You should get going. I wouldn’t want you to be late for work.”

“Wilder…”

“It’s fine.”

I sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t want to fight with you before you go back to London tonight.”

“Who’s fighting?” He kissed my forehead, the same as he hadbeforewe were a couple. “It’s no big deal.”

Still, I could see in his eyes that I’d hurt him. But I was going to miss my meeting if I didn’t hurry. So I nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yep. I’ll lock up behind me.”

Ten hours later, I still hadn’t shaken the uneasy feeling after leaving things the way I had with Wilder. We’d had such a great week, too—spending time alone, hanging out and playing board games with Olivia and Lucas, and we’d even had dinner with both my brothers. And here I wouldn’t even go to lunch with his dad. I felt like such an idiot for the way I’d handled things this morning. I walked into Carrick’s, stuffed my purse under the bar, and wrapped an apron around my waist.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Your smile isn’t reaching your eyes.”

“Just tired.”

A group of regulars came in, firemen from the twenty-third. I walked over and helped them while Dad went back to watching a horse race with his old partner. He hollered when one of them won, and Frank made a face and passed cash over the bar. The two of them would’ve bet on an ant race if they could see things that small anymore.

Sometime later, I went to the back and grabbed a rack of clean glasses to stock behind the bar. Frank called it a night, so Dad walked over to help me. His tremors were really bad lately.

“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” I asked, sliding a stemmed glass into the rack over my head.

“Soon. When’s your eye exam?”

“Huh?”

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