Page 97 of Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

“I had a big breakfast,” I counter.

“Lucy, please look at me.” His pained tone has me sighing and meeting his grief-stricken eyes. “I really am sorry for the way I acted, but I’m trying now. It feels like you’re not even meeting me halfway.”

He’s right, I’m not, but just like he did, I need time to grieve. I had no other choice but to be the strong one, but now, it’s my turn to be a little selfish. “You’re right, Sam. But you have to understand, you really hurt my feelings. It’s going to take some time for me to forget what you said and did. How do I know this change will last? You’re like two people at times, and I don’t know which one I’ll wake up to.”

It feels good to express my fears because it’s the first time he’s really wanted to talk.

“I understand that, but how many times do I have to say sorry before you cut me some slack?”

“For as long as it takes,” I quickly reply. “You owe me that. I was patient with you…it’s now your turn to do the same.”

He nods unhappily, but doesn’t argue.

The rest of the afternoon we work in silence, both wishing we were anywhere but here.

* * * * *

True to my word, I didn’t go to dinner with Sam. I did go to dinner with myself, however. I couldn’t stand to see him moping because although I don’t know how I feel about him, I hate seeing him sad.

I could have called Piper, but I’ve been avoiding her because I can’t stomach to hear about her sexcapades with Saxon. The only person I want to be around is me, as I need to do some serious soul searching, and I can’t do that at home.

I’m being pulled in so many different directions—I don’t know which way is the right way to go. I really want to talk to Saxon, to get it all out on the table and then see how I feel. But how do you talk to someone who doesn’t want to listen to what you’ve got to say?

One thing I’ve decided is that I’m no longer eating meat. I used to be a happy, healthy vegetarian, and I intend to be one once again. Too bad I decided this the moment I walked into Anna’s BBQ. This place brings back fond memories of when Saxon and I ate here after our kiss. Regardless of what happened, we were still able to break bread and be civil towards one another. Now, I doubt he can stand being in the same room as me.

As I’m pensively picking through my salad, a familiar, magical laugh catches my ear. Turning to my right, I choke on my half chewed tomato when I see Saxon and Sophia sitting two tables away from me. Their hands are entwined on top of the red and white checkered tablecloth as they look longingly into each other’s eyes.

I thump my chest, wheezing for breath quietly, as I don’t want to draw any attention my way. Finally, I swallow past the lump in my throat and huddle low in the booth, turning my back so they can’t see me. I need an escape route and I need one now.

Looking ahead, I see a middle aged, robust woman with rosy cheeks, flipping burgers in the kitchen, smiling broadly and looking at home. I’m assuming this is Anna. Most days, I would appreciate what she’s done to the place as she’s definitely brought Texas to Montana. But today, all I can appreciate is the exit.

Behind me are the bathrooms, so that means the only way I’m getting out of here is walking past Sophia and Saxon. From the brief look I got, it appeared they’d only just arrived, as there was no food on the table. The tablecloth looked way too clean, as Saxon would have caked it with remnants of his ribs if they’d already eaten.

A small stage is set up next to the bar and when I hear a twang of a banjo, and see the lights dim, my heart leaps, as this is the distraction I need. “Don’t be shy, folks,” a man with a long southern drawl says over the microphone before he begins playing a Hank Williams song.

Peeking over my shoulder, I see cheerful diners taking to dancing by their tables. I scan over to Sophia and Saxon. He’s smiling at something she just said. I suppose I should be happy that he’s smiling. I can’t help but wish I put the smile there instead of her.

Turning back around, I psych myself up, certain that I can blend in with the crowd. If worse comes to worst, I’ll just dance my way out the door. Counting to three, I take a deep breath and leap out of the booth and…into a wall of muscle.

Dangit.

Saxon steadies my arms, a gut reaction to someone barreling into him. But when I raise my eyes and curse whatever gods are looking over me, he drops his hands. “Lucy?”

“Hi.”

The music is quite loud and the lighting a blue tint, but I can see and hear him perfectly. Nothing else exists but us. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating,” I reply, grimacing. “I was just leaving.”

“Where’s Sam?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, looking behind me.

“At home.”

“You’re here by yourself?” He doesn’t seem to believe me.

“Yes, Saxon, I am.” I want to talk to him, to blurt out how I feel. But I’m not doing it with his date a few feet away. “Enjoy your date.”

He appears guilty for a fraction of a second, before the smug, offensive Saxon emerges. “I will. I don’t plan on coming home, so don’t bother leaving the porch light on.”

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