Page 38 of Runaway
“Sometimes. It ebbs and flows.”
“Does it ever stick?”
“Nah.” He shook his head, but there was a flicker that accompanied it. “Not really. It's been years since I've had anything steady, and even that lasted maybe two months. I've only been really online dating for the last couple of months.”
My head tilted to the side, unable to comprehend that a man like Mark didn't have girls lining up to date him. Sure, he wasn't perfect, and some of his quirks were absolutely maddening, but wasn't that everyone?
“You said your parents were divorced. What happened there?”
He leaned back against the booth and I wondered if I'd plunged too deep, too fast. The topic didn't trigger an immediate emotion on his face, and I wondered if that was a tell for him. If Mark was anything, he was expressive. So I let the question ride without pulling it back.
“Classic fall-in-love, fall-back-out kind of story.” He spoke dispassionately enough that I wondered if repeating the story had become rote. Still, there was an undercurrent of something there. Shock, maybe. Lingering disbelief. I'd felt that way for years after my parents died. Shouldn't divorce be mourned as well?
“Mom and Dad grew apart and should have ended it sooner than they did. Finally, when Dad was preparing to retire, they realized they couldn't live together. So they split up.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Me too.” He nodded. “It sucked. I'm the oldest and closest to my Mom. We're a lot alike in some ways, where JJ is more like my Dad. I spent a lot of time just supporting her through it. She's better now. Not quite so . . .”
“Needy?”
His lips twitched. “For lack of a better word, yes.”
“And how long have you been in love with Lizbeth?”
He sucked in a sharp, sudden breath, his eyes a puzzle of shock. By sheer determination, I held his intensely questioning gaze. The question had been a calculated risk because I could be way off base and embarrass both of us. He may not be in love with her.
Except for the sudden paleness of his face gave him away.
“That obvious?” he croaked.
“Only to me, I think.”
Mark studied me, jaw tense, for so long that I regretted asking. Did he hate me for noticing? Was he frustrated with me? So many emotions seemed to show on his face that I didn't even want to move.
“Months.” His nostrils flared. He balled up the straw wrapper and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. He paused, as if thinking, then shook his head. “I don't . . . I know I fell for her. I can't say I'min lovewith her because, to be honest, I'm not sure I know what it feels like.”
“To be in love?”
“Yeah.”
Our gazes met. For a tangled moment, my heart raced. There was heartbreak there. Sadness. The charming layers of Mark Bailey slid away for a moment before a half-smile shoved them back to where he must keep them hidden.
“Me either,” I said.
His eyebrows rose halfway to his hairline. “What?”
I swallowed with a small chuckle that was more a nervous tick than amusement. “I think . . . I think I sort of lost myself after college. And in the losing, I forgot to live and date and . . . love. There have been plenty of boyfriends, but not real love. Crushes. Attraction. Flirtation. It all ended before it became too serious and happy. But I just . . . I guess I've put it off.”
“What has been more important?”
Genuine curiosity filled his eyes now, and I felt something welling in my chest. Something hot and thick and oily and heavy. It looked like my parents and grated, twisted metal and the quiet of Grandma's house. For a second, I felt sucked into a vortex where I couldn't breathe and I felt like a small five-year-old trying to make sense of the pieces of her life again.
The waitress reappeared with our plates, breaking the sudden sense of falling apart that had washed over me. One piece at a time, I pulled myself together. Syrupy huckleberry pancakes waited for me, a glob of butter melting over their golden tops. A massive omelet with four types of cheese sat in front of him. While he murmuredthank you,I had a centering sip of cold water.
Before another word could be spoken, Mark's phone jangled on the table. The nameLizbethflashed across the screen and he brightened, a finger held up. “This should be about the cabin.”
With a nod, I gestured for him to take it, then shoved a bite of pancake in my mouth so I couldn't say a word. He stood and slipped out of our booth. The moment he was gone, I slumped down, closed my eyes, and shook off the weird moment. My thoughts were scattered and incomplete.
