that woman. His smile, the one that normally charmed her socks off, made her teeth grind. The woman ducked under his arm like she was doing a well-executed cross-body lead in a sexy mambo. When was the last time he’d held the door for her?
Katherine tilted her head down, pretending to focus on her phone, all the while snapping a loop of pictures of them as they crossed the street. Holding hands.
And then as if there were any inkling of hope in her heart . . . she watched them as they stood at the crosswalk. Ron lifted his hands and placed them on the sides of the woman’s face. And then he kissed her.
Katherine’s mouth dropped open.
She knew that move. She could almost feel the heat of his hands against her cool cheeks. His warm mouth. It melted her heart the first time he’d ever done that to her. It had melted her heart this morning . . . again . . . for the last time.
Click.
She stood there, frozen to the spot. A tear of frustration traced her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She swept it away and ducked inside the bathroom. The pounding in her head blurred her vision with each beat in a dizzying effect. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest.
Her watch read 1:09 p.m. A quick glance at her most recently dialed numbers showed she’d called him at 1:01 p.m.
Those eight minutes felt like eight hours of adrenaline-forged hiking.
She stepped out onto the street to find them, but however long she’d been in the bathroom pulling herself together had been long enough for them to get a pretty good head start.
Standing there with no idea what to do next was like being stripped naked on Main Street.
Katherine walked up to the next block, but still didn’t see them. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. She stepped inside the Starbucks and paid for a bottle of water and a biscotti.
On the street she scanned the people again. No sign of them.
She unscrewed the cap off the water bottle, and of course the flimsy plastic collapsed, spurting water across the front of her shirt. She took another sip and then shoved the bottle in her purse.
Slowly moving up the block, she manipulated the biscotti in her hand, the crinkle of its cellophane wrapper bringing her some kind of weird peace as she tried to figure out what her next step was.
She’d prayed for a change. Practically danced across the parking garage at the thought of it. Now this? Had God answered the wrong prayer? Maybe she hadn’t been specific enough. And damn if those words that she’d thought about Peggy weren’t raging in her head, slashing at her with a big fat don’t-judge reminder from her mom. How could she not know?
That last conversation with Peggy and her own unspoken judgment felt like payback. Maybe everyone else knew about Ron and what he was doing too. Maybe it wasn’t even the first time. Would that make it worse? One time was enough damage, wasn’t it?
The tsunami of thoughts flooded her brain.
He couldn’t or wouldn’t give her even fifteen minutes, but he sure did give Miss Thing his undivided attention. Seriously? He could have squeezed her in, kept his secret, and still played playboy for a long lunch . . . if he’d wanted to. If she’d been important enough.
No one was that busy. It was just a matter of where you were in his priorities. It was that simple. He hadn’t been willing to give her an inch.
The biscotti crumbled inside the plastic wrap. She hadn’t had any intention of eating it anyway, but she’d about tortured the innocent almond pastry into a limp heap.
She debated confronting Ron.
What purpose would that serve? Maybe she should have done that in the restaurant. Stepped pretty as you please right up to his table, and then said, “Hello, dear.” Laid a big wet kiss on his mouth and told little Miss No Good, “I’ve got this.” Shooshed that pixie-haired woman off with a flip of her hand like she was nothing.
What did she expect to get out of that, though? An apology?
Katherine tilted her head down, pretending to focus on her phone, all the while snapping a loop of pictures of them as they crossed the street. Holding hands.
And then as if there were any inkling of hope in her heart . . . she watched them as they stood at the crosswalk. Ron lifted his hands and placed them on the sides of the woman’s face. And then he kissed her.
Katherine’s mouth dropped open.
She knew that move. She could almost feel the heat of his hands against her cool cheeks. His warm mouth. It melted her heart the first time he’d ever done that to her. It had melted her heart this morning . . . again . . . for the last time.
Click.
She stood there, frozen to the spot. A tear of frustration traced her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She swept it away and ducked inside the bathroom. The pounding in her head blurred her vision with each beat in a dizzying effect. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest.
Her watch read 1:09 p.m. A quick glance at her most recently dialed numbers showed she’d called him at 1:01 p.m.
Those eight minutes felt like eight hours of adrenaline-forged hiking.
She stepped out onto the street to find them, but however long she’d been in the bathroom pulling herself together had been long enough for them to get a pretty good head start.
Standing there with no idea what to do next was like being stripped naked on Main Street.
Katherine walked up to the next block, but still didn’t see them. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. She stepped inside the Starbucks and paid for a bottle of water and a biscotti.
On the street she scanned the people again. No sign of them.
She unscrewed the cap off the water bottle, and of course the flimsy plastic collapsed, spurting water across the front of her shirt. She took another sip and then shoved the bottle in her purse.
Slowly moving up the block, she manipulated the biscotti in her hand, the crinkle of its cellophane wrapper bringing her some kind of weird peace as she tried to figure out what her next step was.
She’d prayed for a change. Practically danced across the parking garage at the thought of it. Now this? Had God answered the wrong prayer? Maybe she hadn’t been specific enough. And damn if those words that she’d thought about Peggy weren’t raging in her head, slashing at her with a big fat don’t-judge reminder from her mom. How could she not know?
That last conversation with Peggy and her own unspoken judgment felt like payback. Maybe everyone else knew about Ron and what he was doing too. Maybe it wasn’t even the first time. Would that make it worse? One time was enough damage, wasn’t it?
The tsunami of thoughts flooded her brain.
He couldn’t or wouldn’t give her even fifteen minutes, but he sure did give Miss Thing his undivided attention. Seriously? He could have squeezed her in, kept his secret, and still played playboy for a long lunch . . . if he’d wanted to. If she’d been important enough.
No one was that busy. It was just a matter of where you were in his priorities. It was that simple. He hadn’t been willing to give her an inch.
The biscotti crumbled inside the plastic wrap. She hadn’t had any intention of eating it anyway, but she’d about tortured the innocent almond pastry into a limp heap.
She debated confronting Ron.
What purpose would that serve? Maybe she should have done that in the restaurant. Stepped pretty as you please right up to his table, and then said, “Hello, dear.” Laid a big wet kiss on his mouth and told little Miss No Good, “I’ve got this.” Shooshed that pixie-haired woman off with a flip of her hand like she was nothing.
What did she expect to get out of that, though? An apology?
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