“Perfect.”
Millie worked quickly, draining the noodles, plating the food, carrying everything to the dining room where Garrick had already seated himself at the head of the table. She set his plate in front of him—careful not to let the edge touch his placemat—and took her own seat.
He picked up his fork and took a bite.
Millie waited, her hands folded in her lap.
He chewed slowly. Swallowed. Took another bite.
“It’s good,” he finally said.
Relief flooded her. “I’m glad you like it.”
She’d thrown away two other pots of sauce as she tried to get this perfect.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Millie forced herself to take small bites, to appear relaxed, even though her stomach was knotted too tight to taste anything.
“By the way, I ran into Jeff Brennan today,” Garrick said, reaching for his water glass. “You know Jeff, right? From the office.”
Millie’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. She knew who the man was. “Oh?”
“He mentioned he saw you at the gym this morning.” Garrick took a sip of water, his calculated gaze on her.
She carefully set her fork down, anxious about where this was going. “I go most mornings. You know that.”
“Do I?” His tone had shifted. Just slightly.
But it was enough to put her on edge.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been going for months. It helps me stay healthy.”
“Healthy.” He set his glass down with more force than necessary. Water sloshed over the rim. “Interesting choice of words.”
Her throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Jeff showed me a picture of the two of you together.”
Millie’s stomach fluttered. She’d feared this might happen. Had rationalized that she was overreacting.
She should have known better.
“Jeff thought it would be fun to take a selfie to show you,” she explained. “It wasn’t my idea. It was his. And it was innocent.”
And she’d known it was a terrible idea, but to refuse would only raise more questions.
So she’d tried to look casual. She’d kept her distance from the man in the photo. Had raised her hands in two thumbs ups.
The photo was clearly friendly and fun, meant to be lighthearted.
Of course, Garrick wouldn’t take it that way.
“It was his idea, was it?” Garrick repeated, anger punctuating each word. “He happened to show me in the break room in front of three other people.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I saw what you were wearing.”
She blinked, trying to understand what he was saying. She hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn. “I don’t—what was I wearing?”
