Page 38 of Finding Forgiveness
“What look?”
“Thepleasedon’t tell my sister I nearly burnt down our entire apartment block and made us all homeless look.”
“Con,” I say, reaching up to place my flattened palms on either side of his face. “That’s a little overdramatic don’t you think, and technically there was no candle mishap, so you’re getting worked up over nothing.” When he opens his mouth to protest, I squish his cheeks together, halting him. “Our cooking class is in two hours. Why don’t we head out now … we can get brunch before it starts.”
When I release his face, he blows out an exasperated breath. “Did you just gaslight me?”
“Never,” I answer, giving him what I hope is an innocent smile. He shakes his head as he turns, heading down the corridor towards his room. “Is that a yes?”
“Let me grab my shoes.”
We pull up outside the culinary school where our lessons are being held, and Connor immediately starts whining. “I still can’t believe you roped me into this.”
Roped is a better word than strong-armed, or tricked, I guess. “Stop your bitching, Maloney. We’re going to have a blast. Think of all the gourmet meals we’ll be able to cook … or the dinner parties we can host.”
When he chuckles, I narrow my eyes. “What?” he asks, holding his hands up defensively. “I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself here … have you forgotten your first attempt at cooking?”
I reach over the centre console and punch him in his big thick thigh. He’s all hard muscle, so it actually hurts my hand a little. “Don’t be an arsehole, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Just stating the obvious, Princess.”
“Well don’t, you’re messing with my psyche.”
“My bad,” he says with amusement in his tone as we exit the car simultaneously and meet at the front of the vehicle. “So, this is the place huh?”
“It sure is.”
“And what are we supposed to be cooking today.”
“No clue, but it’s a beginners’ class so I think we’re good.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to be here, but after a moment of stalling, he extends his arm, saying, “Lead the way.”
When we get to the front door, Connor moves around me to open it so I can enter first. He’s always been a gentleman; it’s just one of the many traits I love about him.
We both pause in the foyer, taking it all in. The first thing Connor spots is a fire extinguisher hanging on the far wall. “They knew you were coming,” he whispers.
“Hah, you’re a comedian,” I retort, nudging his shoulder with my own.
I approach the front desk and let the woman know who we are, and why we’re here. I have to swallow down the resentment when she gives Connor an appreciative once-over. I should be used to the way women fawn over him by now, but I’m not. I hate it, I always have, especially when he was mine. I no longer have the right to be jealous—since I’m the one who ended our relationship—but internally, that possessiveness still runs deep.
This is the only local beginners’ class I could find that not only runs on the weekend, but also has vacancies. The others were weekdays or evenings. I work afternoons and nights during the week, plus I’ve just started seeing a therapist some mornings, so my calendar is pretty full from Monday to Friday.
“I love how they’ve decorated the place … very shabby chic,” I say once we’ve taken a seat on the sofa by the wall.
“If you say so,” Connor replies, lifting one shoulder and pulling out his phone, completely uninterested in the décor, this place, and me. “What time does this thing finish?” he asks. “I’m supposed to meet up with some of the guys for drinks later.”
That news has my stomach churning. Naturally, I knew this was coming, but it does nothing to stop the panic I feel inside. Our conflicting work schedules mean we haven’t seen each other a lot since I moved here, but to my relief, he’s home every night when I get there. It was only a matter of time before he resumed his old life—moving from one bed to the next.
I’ve done the exact same thing in the past, but that was the old me. I’m no longer going to use others to help me move on from him, because the truth is it never worked anyway. On my therapist’s advice, I’m choosing to deal with those feelings instead of running away from them.
“Did you forget about our dinner at Jaz’s?”
“Shit. Yeah, I did.” He looks down at his phone and starts typing something. “I guess I can catch up with the guys another time.”
The relief that brings just confirms one thing … I have a lot of work to do on myself moving forward.
We sit in silence for the next ten minutes, before the others start to filter in. The first two to arrive are both guys … I’m guessing in their late twenties. They’re holding hands when they enter, so they’re obviously a couple. They look really cute together.
