Page 135 of Accidental Husband
The cashier looks at us like we're crazy, but she still trades our cash for sodas.
We take seats on red vinyl stools. This place is trying way too hard to look like an old timey soda fountain, but there's something charming about the effort.
I take my first sip. Mmm. Vanilla. Cherry. Cola. Artificial sweetness.
"You love it," he says.
"No comment."
"You do." He rests his hand on my knee.
I press my legs together reflexively.
He looks at me funny. Like he's picking up on my, um, avoidance.
No, he is.
He knows something is wrong.
He's too fucking perceptive.
"Not here." I cross my legs. Swallow another sup of soda. "This is amazing."
"I know." He smiles.
"You love it too."
"Yeah." His eyes fix on mine. "I do."
He's not talking about the soda.
He's talking about me. About us.
I want to believe it. But I can't face that wholeI broke the promise I made five years agothing.
I will. Soon.
Tonight.
Right now, I need something that makes sense.
I pull out my Kindle. Read our current YA book aloud. Tease him about his inability to appreciate quality literature.
We finish our sodas (okay, he was right about that), then head to the fake streets inside the casino next door.
It's quaint, like an actual small-town main street. The store fronts look like something out of an episode ofGilmore Girls.
The floor is fake tile. The ceiling is bright blue with puffy white clouds. The lighting is dim. Gentle. Like a beach morning.
And there's the store I promised to visit with him. Complete with private dressing rooms and floor to ceiling doors.
I motion to the shop at the corner. "You still want to pull my hair when you come?"
His breath catches in his throat. "Fuck yes."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Juliette
