Page 23 of The Opposite of Romance
“Yeah, well, it was kind of a last-minute project.” His hand sneaks to the back of his neck, scratching it. “Didn’t really have workers to spare.”
I put the cup onto the coffee table and rub my hands on my thighs. “I shouldn’t have asked, should I?” I wince. “Now I feel even worse. Why did you do it?”
“You looked like you really needed it.” He shrugs.
A pang of sadness hits my stomach. I was desperate, wasn’t I? And this poor man took pity on me.
“Well, thank you,” I croak out. “I’m not typically such a mess.”
“I think you’re doing great.” His words pierce my chest. “And the deck is going to be amazing.”
I let out a weak chuckle, glad he made the joke, since I was a second away from crying. So many doubts poison my brain. Hearing that I’m doing great is like an antidote for them.
The silence stretches for a second while I try to get my bearings. He gets up, placing the cup carefully on the coaster.
“Better get to work.”
“Sure.” I give him a soft smile.
He gets to his station in the backyard, while I’m still rooted to my spot on the couch. Feelings of guilt build up inside of me, like they so often do, clogging my throat.
I feel guilty for taking my kids’ family away.
I feel guilty for not being enough to keep my husband interested.
But most of all, I feel guilty for spending so many years being unhappy.
Logan gets to work, sawing and stacking and measuring the wooden boards. I observe him intently, and my thoughts empty, minute after minute.
There’s something comforting in watching him. He’s peaceful, focused, and I’m hypnotized by the sight.
My mind finally silent, I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of my coffee.
This is a good day. I met a guy last night, my kids are having fun, and I got to spend a cozy morning at home. It’s a good day.
I won’t let my head spoil it.
Chapter Ten
Two days later,I’m stuck on writing a scene, trying to figure out what happens next before my phone vibrates with a text, snapping me out of it. Thrilled to have a distraction, I open it right away, breaking my rule of no phone while writing.
Unknown number
Sadie, I hope you’ll join me for dinner on Friday, 8 o’clock. Send me your address and a car will pick you up.
L
The text is not a demand, but it’s not a question, either. I’m guessing Mr. Sterling doesn’t hear the word ‘no’ a lot. Still, a flicker of excitement blooms in my belly.
My focus is now fully gone, so I dial Sandy’s number right away.
“What up?” she asks casually as she picks up.
“I got a date invite from Mr. Sterling!”
“What? How did he get your number?” She matches her voice to mine and we’re both squealing.
“No idea. Guess he has his ways.”
