Page 67 of Flirting with the Stranger

Olivia called me on Wednesday and wanted a girls' night. She invited me over for dinner and we had a Gerard Butler marathon. This time I called Van to tell him I was too tired, and I would talk to him later.

The next day, I spent the morning finishing packing up the bakery with Van. But the tension in the air was thicker than a buttercream frosting. Normally, he’s playful and full of banter, but this time, he was all work. The bags under his eyes tell me he’s been running on empty. But he hasn’t been with me. When I asked him if he wanted to come over that night, he said he was helping Seth pick out patio bricks for The Lilith House. I called Parisa to confirm that’s what he was doing.

On Friday, Charlie unexpectedly showed up at my townhouse, wanting me to help her redecorate her home office. She said she wanted my eye for decorating. I told her I was better at decorating cakes than rooms, but she wasn’t having it. Several hours of shopping later, I arrived home and crashed. I sent a text message to Van.

Come Saturday, something was off. I called Van, wanting to spend a night with him, and he brushed me off and said we could get together tomorrow. It took everything in me to not break down. Then, I called Parisa and told her to meet me at Porter’s. Ten minutes later she strolls in with Charlie and Olivia on her heels. A girl’s night is exactly what I need.

“I’m so happy you guys are here.” I stand and give them each a hug.

Parisa takes the seat next to me as Charlie and Olivia sit across from us.

“So, what’s going on? What’s with the emergency meeting?” Parisa asks.

“It’s Van. He’s been acting weird all week.” I take a sip of my virgin margarita. I choke back a gag as I swallow the overly sweet yet tart yellow drink. “And this is disgusting. Virgin margaritas shouldn’t be a thing.”

“You need to try a pineapple and ginger punch. It’s so good and refreshing.” Parisa waves down a waitress and orders us a round of non-alcoholic drinks while the other two lucky bitches get alcohol.

“So, what’s going on with Van?” Olivia asks.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong. He hasn’t been himself lately. No playful banter. No trying to lick my frosting.”

Charlie leans forward and whispers, “The last part…do we want to know?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Nevermind, I’d rather not.” Charlie laughs.

Olivia glances between Charlie and Parisa and shifts in her seat. “What do you think is going on?”

“I have no idea.” I throw my hands in the air. “Things have been different ever since he sold the bakery. We’ve talked about it, and everything will be fine. We’ll figure something out. I can find a new job. I’ve already talked to a few places in town, including a restaurant about doing their dessert menu.”

“Is that what you really want to do?” Olivia asks.

“I don’t know what else to do. I need a job. I can’t depend on Van. He’s already paid off the debt from my ex, even though I told him he didn’t have to. But he insisted.” I shrug. “But there’s something else that’s been eating away at me.”

“What’s that?” Charlie asks.

“I hate to even put this out in the universe, but how much do I really know about Van?” All three of them stare at me, waiting for an answer. I exhale a deep breath. “What if he’s seeing someone else?”

“He wouldn’t do that. Would he?” Olivia asks.

Parisa leans toward me and rests a hand on mine. “That’s not possible. He adores you.”

“Thanks. I hate even thinking it, but every time I try to make plans with him, he’s either too busy or too tired. I don’t know anymore. Every time I think my life is moving in the right direction, I get smacked in the face. As if the universe is telling me I can’t be happy.” I play with the cocktail napkin in front of me, tearing off little pieces and scattering them on the table.

“Well, if he’s doing anything of the such, he’ll have to answer to us.” Olivia slams her palms on the table.

“All of us,” Parisa adds.

“He said he’ll come over tomorrow for dinner, so I’ll talk to him then. It’s probably pregnancy brain getting to me, making me delusional.” I redirect the conversation to anything but myself. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted from thinking about it. While everyone shares what they’ve been up to, I can’t help that all my thoughts continue to revert to Van.

* * *

Opening the oven door, I pull the chicken out and set the dish on the stovetop. I finished mashing the potatoes while stirring the honey glazed carrots. I don’t know why, but I imagine this is my last meal before my execution. Maybe not my execution since that’s harsh, but at the very least, my last meal before my life changes forever.

As I finish scooping the potatoes into a serving dish, a creak from the front door catches my attention. I peer around the corner and Van trudges through the door. His hair is disheveled, and his clothes are worn and wrinkled like he's been wearing the same outfit for the past week. He toes off his shoes. When he enters the living room, our eyes meet. The corner of his lips tip up into a smile. I can’t help but give him one of my own. He stalks my way and wraps his arms around me, hugging me to his chest. I glance up and he bends down. I think he’s about to kiss me. A kiss I’ve craved all week. Then his lips press to my forehead. My heart falls to the floor. Now, I’m waiting for him to stomp on it and walk out. Instead, he leans over to the stove.

“It smells delicious. I’m starving.”

---