I wave then walk to my car, careful not to move to the pace of my heart beating out of my chest. I take caution not to slam my door closed and not to drive aggressively out of the drive, but once I’m out of sight, for some unholy reason, I scream.
I yell, hit the steering wheel, and wonder why in the world I’m having such a visceral, untamed reaction to Knightley taking a woman home.
It’s what I wanted!
Literally.
I matched them! I found her through social media and, after having a few pleasant conversations, determined she would be a fantastic fit for him.
Maybe it’s just the shattered illusion of thinking Knightley was a decent man who fully committed to a woman before bringing her to bed.
But who knows if that’s what he was doing, Emma Jane?
My brain is a battleground; which version of my Knightley will win out?
My.
In an instant, my anger melts away. My screams become hysterical laughs, and now, instead of beating the steering wheel, I rub it as if I’m apologizing for treating it as a punching bag.
“Wow, miss ma’am. No wonder you got upset.” I laugh more to myself, a tear running down my cheek.My Knightley.Somewhere along the way of being shoved together often, I think he becameone of my best friends. He became someone I trust and respect even if we go for each others’ throats often.
As much as he has criticized me, he’s never been wrong. That’s a thought I’ll have to sit with.
So, if he marries another woman, I’ll lose my close friendship with him. He will no longer be mine. I’ll have to let him go.
But I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
With a relieved sigh at realizing the cause for my reaction was the idea of losing my friend instead of jealousy over Mallory and Knightley—though I still can’t believe he took her home after the first date—I wipe the tears from my eyes and focus on making it back to Hartfield in one piece.
Once I’m home, I take a thirty-minute shower from hell, relishing in the hot water as it numbs the tension in my body. Any lingering thoughts of Knightley and Mallory swirl down the drain as I get out, do my nighttime skincare routine, and then climb into my comfortable bed.
As I lay in bed attempting to get comfortable, a text dings on my phone.
I have all notifications silenced at this time at night.
All except his.
Squire:It’s not what you think. The date did go well, but not that well.
Bubbling laughter escapes through my lips.Oh, thank God!Not that it’s any of my business, but I’m glad to know he isn’t the kind of man to sleep with a woman on the first date.
Me:No judgment here. Glad itwent well.
There was immense judgment on my end. Lots of it. But he doesn’t need to know that.
He immediately begins typing.
Squire:Thank you for tonight.
Me:Are you broken? I was eighty-five percent worried you’d bail on the date, and now you’re thanking me?
Squire:I thought about bailing. But I’m glad I didn’t. It was… nice.
I type.
Delete.
Type again.
