Page 76 of The Rebound Plan

“Probably not.” I don’t really want to talk about Emery when Shannon still looks on the verge of crying. “Listen, I don’t like the idea of you driving upset. If you don’t want coffee, can I drop you at home? Or maybe call someone else to pick you up?”

“Oh God, please don’t tell anyone.” Alarm flashes across her face. “I can’t?—”

“Hey. All right.” Without thinking, I draw her into my arms and give her a hug—and she tenses up.

I let her go immediately.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“No, it’s…” She takes a deep breath and gestures across the street without looking that way. “Coffee would be good.”

I manage to steer her across the street without touching her again, and inside the bakery, I order an iced black coffee.

“Same for me,” she says.

The place is empty, which is good—nobody is going to hear our conversation—but also a bit awkward, because there’s no white noise to provide cover.

“Do you want to sit outside?” the barista asks helpfully. “We have picnic tables in the garden.”

The bakery is in a converted century-old house, and the garden out back is a little slice of overgrown heaven. And we have it to ourselves, but there’s a breeze and some birds—it’s not the awkward stillness of inside. Perfect.

“Have a seat,” I say quietly but firmly.

She slides onto one side of a picnic table, and while I want to take up the rest of the same bench and wrap my arm around her, I resist that inappropriate urge and drop onto the other side instead.

She sips her coffee, and for a while, that’s all that I need—just to see her and know that she’s calming down, that she’s not crying in her car. But as the colour in her face returns to normal, it’s hard to keep silent.

“It’s good to see you,” I finally say.

She lets out a little frustrated laugh, but keeps her head ducked.

“Shannon.”

She shakes her head.

“Look at me.”

It takes her a second, but she slowly lifts her head.

“Itisgood to see you,” I repeat firmly as I hold her cautious gaze. “And we don’t have to talk about anything beyond that.”

“This isn’t too awkward for you?”

I blink in surprise. “No.” I frown. “Not for me. And if it is for you, I?—”

“It isn’t.” Her shoulders relax in visible relief.

“Has it been awkward…” I almost crush my coffee and carefully flatten my hand against the table. “At home?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucked, Shan. He—” I cut myself off when her expression pinches. I need to tread carefully. “We’re grown ups.”

“It’s just sex, right? I’ve had a lot of sex.” She doesn’t look away as she says it, and it’s not meant to be seductive at all—her face is all blotchy and red, after all. She’s trying to be fearless, and it’s working. Fearlessly bold, despite everything that’s gone on. That’s her natural instinct, and fuck me but I love it.

More than anything, I want to lean in and ask her to tell me all about that sex. Even if it’s been with her douchebag husband.

And while I don’t agree that what happened between us isjustsex, I’m glad that’s all it felt like for her. She deserves any pleasure she can grab ahold of.

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