“Same here,” she says, with the stubborn air of someone digging in her heels.
My shoulders relax. “Thank fuck.”
She shakes her head in annoyed disbelief. “You think I’d sleep with you if I were seeing other people?”
Sleep with you. Those words sound too good on her lips, even chased with her annoyance.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” I admit.
“Well, think about it. Because it’s insulting.”
Oh, shit. She’s not just annoyed. She’s offended. This is the Mabel who pulls no punches, and I’ve pissed her off.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to get my thoughts together.
“How did you mean it then? Other than to ask if I’m sleeping around? Just last week, I literally told you I was on a romance break, to focus on myself and our business. And you think I’d be on the apps then, just to, what, fuck?”
This is bad. She must think I’m a crass asshole. “I really didn’t mean that.”
She breathes out hard. “Then, maybe don’t ask questions like that. Questions that imply I’m sleeping around. Or, worse, lying.”
Is that what I implied? I rewind the conversation, and damn, my words do sound insulting. “Mabel, I was just trying to figure out?—”
If we were exclusive when we were one-time-only fuck buddies? For fuck’s sake, this conversation is too hard to have.
But she blows out one breath, then another, then one more. “It’s fine,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal.”
Clearly, it is though. I hurt her because I was…jealous. Territorial.
“This is all new to me. This…thing,” I admit. “With us. Even though I know there’s nous.”
We are business partners, though, and we promised to navigate problems like adults would.
“I get it. Same here,” she says more calmly, maybe realizing that the conversation escalated far too quickly. “I just didn’t like the assumption. But it’s fine. I promise.”
I’m not buying her half smile though. “Are you sure?” I ask with real concern.
“I swear,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender.
I should apologize properly. But as I try to figure out what to say, her gaze sails to her car. “I should go,” she says.
And maybe it’s best if I let her. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you on Tuesday for pickleball practice.” I’m counting down to two days from now. The bakery’s closed Tuesdays, so it’s the best time to do it.
“Sounds good.” She stops in her tracks. “Theo rented out the entire court for us.”
I stand straighter, worry shooting through me. Is he going to babysit us now that he knows we’ve kissed? “Is he coming?”
“No. I wouldn’t let him. He just didn’t want any distractions, so I guess it’s you and me and a pickleball game.”
Ordinarily, that would sound tempting. But her pretty eyes don’t flicker with secrets between the two of us. They’re hard, like she needs to protect herself.
“I’ll focus solely on pickleball,” I say.
“Me too,” she says with resignation, then whirls around, trots down the steps, heads to her car, and slides inside.
I watch her the whole time as she drives away, the arc of her headlights swooping down the street then turning the corner, out of sight.
I wish that had lasted longer. I wish she’d come back. I wish I knew what to say.
