“I want to believe it, but he’s… He’s Ian.”
“So what? Who I date is my business. Not yours.”
I start to push the cart forward, but Jordan puts a hand on the handle, stopping its progression.
“Paige, I’m not trying to determine who you date,” he says. “I just don’t think Ian is the right guy for you.”
This time, Jordan’s soft gaze isn’t enough to extinguish the frustration boiling inside me. I don’t know where my relationship with Ian will go, but it bothers me thatJordanis trying to steer me away from someone who could help me get over Jordan.
“Why wouldn’t he be right for me? You heard how he’s changed. He’s thoughtful, adventurous, well-traveled.”
Jordan flinches. “He’s just… snaky.”
“Snaky?”
“Yes, like he’s got an ulterior motive. Just the look in his eyes, Paige—it was like he wanted you for a prize or something.”
“Believe it or not, Jordan, some guysareinterested in me.”
He scrubs both hands through his hair. “Believe me, I amveryaware.” For the briefest moment, Jordan’s eyes pin me with a stare. They are not soft like moments earlier, but intense. Raw. What does he mean, he’svery aware? Something in his unfiltered words and heated gaze sends butterflies coursing through me.
Jordan swiftly turns to walk farther down the aisle, leaving me to wonder what all that just meant.
The impulsive part of my brain bursts through, painting Jordan’s actions on Saturday in a whole new light. Could Jordan be jealous? And not just because he doesn’t like Ian but becauseheis the sort of guy who would be interested in me?
I shake my head, pushing away the idea as quickly as it arrived and reminding my brain thatJordanhelped set me up on that date in the first place. That thought alone scorches those beautiful wings right off those butterflies.
We finish shopping in silence, not speaking until we make it to Dove’s checkout counter.
“Hello, you two!” Dove’s chipper greeting feels like a flamingo walking into a funeral.
Jordan and I both nod silently.
Dove must not pick up on the arctic chill between us because she presses on. “What is my favorite couple up to tonight?”
“We’re not a couple,” Jordan and I say in unison. Then we look at one another before averting our eyes and throwing groceriesonto the conveyor belt like we’re going for a gold medal in checking-out.
Dove laughs. “You two even fight like a couple.”
“We’re not fighting,” Jordan says.
He looks at me, and I know he’s wondering why I’m not refuting Dove’s accusation, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t let Jordan think he can criticize my dating choices and get away with it. If my heart can’t be his, then it should be free to be with whomever it wants without his interference.
So I strike up a conversation with Dove, ignoring Jordan’s shocked expression.
When we reach my car and open the trunk, Jordan tugs on my elbow. “We’re not fighting, right?”
I glance down at my shoes, unable to endure the pain crossing his features. “I think I just need some space.”
“Space?” His eyes go wide, probably because the last time we hadspace, we didn’t speak for four and a half years. “If this is because of Ian, I’m sorry.”
“That’s the problem. You keep saying ‘sorry,’ but that would imply you genuinely mean it. What if Ian and I do get together? Will you push back then?”
“Yes, but only because it’s him.”
I throw up my hands in frustration. I don’t know what hurts worse, the fact that Jordan isn’t being supportive or that his jealousy seems born purely from his resentment of Ian. Clearly I misread the intense look he gave me in the store. How many times will I let my heart hope that Jordan feels something more for me before I understand that he doesn’t?
All the fight drains from me, and it’s all I can do not to look in his direction as I load my groceries in the trunk and walk to my car door. “Goodnight, Jordan.”
