Page 42 of Hard to Forgive

Instead, I just nodded. I didn’t completely trust myself to speak right then, to point out that starting at eight would keep us up later. At least he’d agreed, and I’d take my victories.

No matter how small.

To no one’s surprise, we did not get finished before the end of shift. I tried one more time to get him to come over earlier and was rapidly shot down for my efforts.

I tried to work a little while I waited for him that night, but it was useless. I couldn’t remember all of the fine details of his sketches, and asking him for a copy would’ve been another lesson in futility. So instead, I took a shower. I straightened my condo. I ate dinner, and I kept stealing glances at the clock.

The closer it got to eight, the more that weird ball in my stomach grew. It was making me regret the greasy burgers I had for dinner, because clearly it hadn’t agreed with me. Hopefully, my stomach wasn’t going to be a problem when we were supposed to be working. I could hear his annoyance now if he cut his plans short, and I spent the whole night dealing with health issues.

I didn’t think it would go well.

At 7:30, I was convinced that I was probably dying.

At 7:35, my phone rang.

I picked it up immediately. “I’m dying,” I informed Mariah when I answered. I didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Jonas is coming over to work, and I’m dying.”

“Because he’s coming over?” she questioned.

“No, because my stomach is in knots. I think my burger gave me food poisoning.”

Mariah snorted over the phone. “You sure that’s what it is?”

“What else could it be?”

“Well, when did it start hurting?”

“After I ate my burger,” I answered. Wasn’t that obvious? Why else would I think it was my burger if it hadn’t started hurtingafterI ate the burger?

“Mhm,” she hummed. “And with this food poisoning, I’m assuming you’ve been off and on the toilet all night?”

“No?”

“Oh, then you’ve thrown up a few times?”

“I don’t understand this line of questioning.”

“You don’t have food poisoning, Si,” she groaned. “You’re nervous.”

Nervous? I was not—“What do I even have to be nervous about?”

“Being alone with Jonas.” She said it so simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Clearly, it wasn’t. It was ridiculous. “I’ve been alone with Jonas before.”

“When you weren’t naked?”

“Last night.” So there. It was obviously the burger and not Jonas.

“And how did your stomach feel last night?”

“It felt okay?” I did not like the direction this conversation was going. It felt like there were about to be insinuations, insinuations that I did not want to hear from my ex-girlfriend about Jonas Koetter. I’d rather hear them from anyone else. Actually, I’d rather never hear them because they were completely untrue, but beggars couldn’t always be choosers.

“So what happened today at work with him?”

“Nothing. It was the burger. I’m dying, and you’re insinuating things.”

She sighed. “Well, you’re making itsoeasy to draw the obvious conclusions. You can’t be pissed when someone comes through and connects the dots when you make them that damn clear.”

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