My heart stops, for at least two full seconds, before kick-starting again at triple speed.
He looks good with his tailored clothes and his perfect hair and his smile that could sell ice to polar bears. Today he's wearing dark jeans and a grey cashmere sweater. His brown hair is styled just so, that artfully tousled look that takes forty-five minutes and three different products to achieve.
I know because I watched him do it every morning for two years.
His blue eyes lock onto mine, and his face transforms. Surprise melting into relief melting into something soft and hopeful that makes my stomach turn.
"Jessica."
My name in his mouth sounds wrong now. Like a word I used to know but have since forgotten the meaning of.
"Callum." I grip the handle of my cart hard enough to turn my knuckles white. The metal bites into my palm. "What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here until Friday.”
"I couldn’t wait that long.” He moves toward me, slow and careful, like I'm a wild animal he's trying not to spook. Every step is measured. Controlled. The same way he used to approach me after we fought, when he needed to "calm me down."
"You weren't answering my calls."
"I blocked your number."
"I noticed." He stops a few feet away. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something expensive and woodsy that used to make me weak in the knees. Now it sits in my throat like poison."I've been worried about you, baby. After you ran away from our wedding like that..."
"Don't call me baby."
His eyebrows lift slightly. The only crack in his carefully composed expression. Around us, I hear a cart wheel squeak to a stop. Mrs. Johnson from the post office is frozen three aisles over, pretending to study a can of soup. Her eyes keep darting toward us.
"Okay." He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. The gesture of a reasonable man dealing with an unreasonable woman. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was presumptuous."
Presumptuous. Such a Callum word. Polished and precise and designed to make him sound rational while making me sound difficult.
"How did you find me?"
"I drove to Largo Waters." He shrugs, like driving hundreds of miles to track down your ex-fiancée is perfectly normal. Like it's romantic instead of terrifying. "Asked around. Someone at the diner mentioned you'd been spending time at the Negrorio place."
My blood goes ice cold. My omega flares, hackles raising, sensing danger.
"You've been asking about me?"
"I was worried." Another step closer. The fluorescent lights catch the planes of his face, highlighting cheekbones that could cut glass. Perfect. He's always so goddamn perfect. "You disappeared, Jessica. No note. No explanation. One minute we were about to get married, and the next you were gone."
"I left a note."
"'I'm sorry, I can't.'" His voice hardens just slightly. Just enough that I catch it even if no one else would. "That's not an explanation. That's a fortune cookie."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Old Mr. Garrett shuffling closer, leaning heavily on his cane. He's not even pretending to shop. Just watching. The produce clerk has stopped stacking apples. A woman with a toddler in her cart has gone still near the bread aisle.
They're all watching.
I want to laugh. Want to scream. Want to throw the carton of eggs at his face and watch the yolk drip down his cashmere sweater.
Instead I take a breath. Force my voice steady even though my hands are shaking. "It was all the explanation you deserved."
Something flickers in his eyes. Anger. Real anger. It's gone in a blink, smoothed over by that practiced charm like a mask sliding back into place.
"You're right." His voice drops, soft and contrite. The voice he uses when he's about to gaslight me. "I know I messed up, Jess. I know I wasn't always the partner you needed. But I've been doing a lot of thinking since you left, and I want to make things right."
"There's nothing to make right. We're done."
"We're not done." He moves closer. I take a step back. My spine hits the cold glass of the dairy case. The chill seeps through my shirt. "Two years, Jessica. You don't just throw that away."
