Page 3 of 40 and Flirting (with Disaster)
She hesitated, nodded. As she followed him into the room, she noticed the sign on the door. MANAGER.
Oh God. She remembered now. The man who’d rescued her was the manager and owner of the Carousel, Jamie Worthington. She’d seen him at a couple of official functions she and Kirk had attended as members of the Black Wolf’s Bluff City Council. And if she kept her seat, she’d likely see him at future events. The man who had overheard the most humiliating moments of her life. The man who had watched and listened as her husband informed her he wanted to cheat on her.
Would this embarrassment follow her for the rest of her life?
“Have a seat.” Jamie gestured toward a comfortable looking sofa lining one wall. He took the chair behind the desk, which he swiveled around to the side so nothing obstructed her view of him. “I called Daniel. He should be here in a few.”
Daniel ran the only taxi service based in Black Wolf’s Bluff. Of course this man would remember her, remember where she came from. She and Kirk were fairly prominent in local politics.
“Thank you.” She found herself looking anywhere but at him.
“He’s wrong, you know.”
She jerked her gaze back to him. Was Jamie flirting with her? Now? But all she read in the man’s eyes was sincerity. The hard knot in her gut relaxed the slightest bit. “About what?”
“What he asked you.” He leaned back, crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “Any man you belong to would never need another woman.”
The you belong to sent a shiver down her spine, though she wasn’t certain why. She had no idea how to respond, what to say. They sat in awkward silence for long minutes until Jamie’s cell phone chimed. “There is your ride.”
She stood and followed him through the halls until they reached the back door. Stepping out, she saw Daniel’s blue and white taxi parked by the curb. He flashed his lights in acknowledgment.
She spun quickly and gave Jamie the best smile she could muster, which wasn’t saying much. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Worthington.”
“Jamie, please.” He reached for her hand, held it gently when she accepted his grasp. “You take care, all right?”
Her shaky smile faltered, but she nodded anyway. “Good night.”
As she crossed the distance to the cab, she pushed thoughts of Kirk and Jamie and everything else about her night away and walked into her future.
Alone.
Two
“It might be early, but I definitely need a drink.”
Scarlett didn’t argue, just nodded as they followed Adrian toward a booth at the back of Casa Blanca. At least it was a Saturday. Iris didn’t have to go back to work after this; Ashley covered the evening and weekend shifts at the library, and they were closed on Sundays. After what she’d just learned, she definitely wanted a margarita, food, and to go home and bury her head under the covers, in that order.
Kirk was getting remarried. They hadn’t even been divorced for three months.
Once they were settled in their seats and Adrian had gone to fill their drink orders, Scarlett reached across the table to take Iris’s hand. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”
Iris shrugged, the casual move belying the anger churning inside of her. She was grateful for her friend’s empathy. “It isn’t your fault my ex is an asshole.” Or that Scarlett had happened to run into the lovely couple in Wildwoods Brew this morning. Kirk had taken the opportunity to make certain Scarlett knew of the impending nuptials, likely because he recognized that the news would travel to Iris forthwith. They’d barely finished sorting and dividing their entire lives together—or she had, since Kirk, as usual, had left the emotional baggage for her to carry while he evidently carried on with something else—and now he was engaged to a woman twenty years younger than him? Just the thought of dating had nausea tangling her stomach in knots. But then, she imagined Kirk had been dating far longer than she even wanted to think about.
It was that thought that burst the bubble of her anger, sinking her back into the grief and exhaustion that had been her mainstay for the past few months. Unlike him, she hadn’t had any forewarning of the divorce, or not any that she truly recognized. She’d had to do all her working through of the emotions in the past six months instead. And God, was she tired of it all.
She sighed, rubbing at her aching eyes. “I just can’t believe it.”
When she dropped her hands, it was to face Scarlett’s stare, heavy with concern. That look made Iris squirm in her seat.
“It’s not that I want him back; you know that, right?” Just the thought made her self-conscious. Women shouldn’t miss cheaters, though whether Kirk had physically cheated on her or not, she had never been certain. He’d said he wanted an open marriage; he’d never admitted to already seeing someone else, likely so he wouldn’t jeopardize the divorce settlement. Not that that had helped him in any significant way. They’d been married over two decades; she’d gotten half of literally everything.
“Of course you don’t want that bastard back,” Scarlett agreed.
“I do miss…” She focused on the table, her thumb tracing a scar in the worn wood. Admitting she missed anything was hard, even with friends she knew wouldn’t judge her. “I miss the man he used to be, the one who was by my side for so many years when the kids were young. This Kirk”—she waved a vague hand—“he’s a stranger. I sat across the table from him that night and realized I didn’t know him at all.”
The separation had been like tearing her flesh apart—how did you divide a lifetime of memories and connections and sheer stuff? Selling the house had been one thing, but what was inside… And of course Kirk hadn’t made a single damn decision. She’d had to present him a list of things she wanted to take with her. She’d had to decide how to equitably split things that were too small for the list, like kitchen utensils and pantry items. She’d had to divide up the photo albums and Christmas ornaments into hers, his, and their kids’.
The whole thing had been done in the three months it took to finalize the divorce. She’d spent the past three months dealing with the sorrow left behind, setting up her “new life,” getting some frigging sleep. But it didn’t matter how much she slept; she still felt tired.
