He stands and stares at the rings for a moment before picking them up and leaving the room with them in his hand, which leaves me fighting the urge to jump for joy and punch the air.
Yes!
Pressuring him for an answer will absolutely not work. But if he’s holding on to the rings, it means he’s probably halfway to trusting me again.
I hope.
* * * *
It only takes me a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. I’m nearly finished with the dishes when I hear a loud clunk that startles me.
I turn and see Jester in the pantry, standing on one of the higher shelves and staring down at the floor.
“What are you doing, goofball?” I walk around the counter island and realize he’s knocked a jar of peanut butter onto the floor.
Thankfully, it’s a plastic jar.
He maows at me as I reach in and extricate him from there before he can knock anything else off the shelf. After setting him on the floor, he immediately darts over to the jar and starts batting at it with his paws.
“Dude, no.” I take it away from him and when I straighten to put it away, he leaps at my hands, like he’s trying to snatch the jar from me.
“No!” Still I laugh, because he’s adorable. I’ve really missed him.
I replace the jar and manage to keep him out of the pantry as I shut the door. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Maow!” He sounds indignant and sits there, tail flicking as he glowers up at me. Like he’s mad that I took a toy away from him or something.
“Sorry, but I need to get this work done. It’s important.” Upstairs, I hear the shower start.
Good, because Tom looked pretty rough there by the end of breakfast. I’m hoping he’ll lie down for a nap and relax. Then, by the time I’m done, he might feel a little better so we can talk more.
If he feels up to it.
I won’t pressure him to talk, or to forgive me and “move on.”
I know I hurt him. That means doing this at his speed, and in his way. No rushing in the world will help.
Although the fact that he still hasn’t thrown me out hopefully bodes well for my chances.
I make myself another cup of coffee and set to work after checking my e-mail on my work cell. I have a couple of phone calls I need to return. And there’s a text from Freddy on my personal phone, sent late last night after I’d already come home with Tom and put my phones on chargers down here.
Greeeat.Like his calls, Freddy’s texts are also silenced and easily ignored, unless I happen to look at my phone and see them.
His whiny tone comes through even without hearing his voice.
Your mom called me today and we talked. I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me. I know whatever this is, we can work it out. How many times do I need to apologize? Will you PLEASE call me?
The last thing in the world I want to do is talk to Freddy.
Make that the third-last thing, followed by talking to my mother right now.
The absolute last thing I want to do is to ever leave Tom’s side again. Meaning I need to have a talk with Tom in detail about Freddy, just in case my ex decides to start trouble.
Once word of what I’ve done to bork this deal spreads around the office, it will upset Freddy and make him look bad. I have a suspicion—a near certainty—that Freddy will try to start trouble between me and Tom.
He’s always been inordinately interested in my relationship with Tom. Obsessed, if I’m being honest. He probably thought if he knew more about that time of my life, it’d help him figure out how to get into my bed.
The problem is Freddy is a liar and not the most ethical person. I couldn’t trust he wouldn’t cheat on me. On top of the fact that I wasn’t super-attracted to him because he’s kind of a douchebag, the cumulative effect chilled any romantic ardor I might have summoned for him. Literally, the only reason I stuck it out as long as I did was to keep my mom happy.
