“Don’t think so. I saw him right as he walked through the door.” She holds firmly to my tie like it’s keeping her from falling over a cliff.
He.My body moves of its own accord like the need to protect her is instinctual. I slide my arm across the back of her chair and turn my body toward hers until Millie’s knees nestle between my spread thighs.
“Is this okay?” I ask, hoping it feels like a refuge and not a cage.
“It’s perfect,” she breathes, her soft lips brushing across my neck as she speaks. I barely manage to hold in the groan that claws its way up my throat.
Strands of her hair wave when I breathe, and the contact of our skin has my heart beating out of my chest. I close my eyes, focusing on every hypersensitive spot connecting us—my rough beard scraping against her delicate skin and her shoulder pressing into my chest.
“Are you okay?” I whisper. I want to wrap my arms all the way around her, but I settle for lazily rubbing my thumb in a circle on her shoulder blade.
“It’s my ex-boyfriend,” she says with a sigh. “I could write a novel to answer your question, but the short version is, he wasn’t great to me.”
Rage seeps through me like an ink spill on clean paper, and I have to force myself to ignore it and stay where I am.
My entire hand splays across her back, and I pull her closer as she mumbles, “It’s mostly fine. I just don’t want to have to talk to him. He has texted me a few times recently, and I didn’t want to respond. So I guess I’m hiding like a coward.”
I circle my hand over her soft shirt to suppress the urge to punch this guy. “You’re not a coward. You don’t have to respond to anyone you don’t want to, ex-boyfriend or not.”
She nods and lets out a long breath. Her grip loosens on my tie, but she doesn’t move away. “Sorry about this.”
God, if there wasevera time she shouldn’t be sorry, this is it. “Don’t apologize. Stay as long as you need. I’m perfectly comfortable.”
I could stay like this for as long as she’d let me.
She huffs a quiet laugh against my skin. Footsteps echo behind us, and her shoulders tense, so I smooth my hand on her back again until she relaxes.
When the bell above the door chimes, Millie lifts her eyes to look around. She must not see him, because she moves back slowly until she meets my gaze.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks are flushed, freckles dancing over her rosy skin, and her eyes shine like morning dew on deep-green moss.
“No problem at all.” My gaze drops to her full mouth, a mere breath away, and my lips tingle with the desperate temptation to taste hers.
Millie’s tongue darts out to lick her lips, and it’s agonizing to watch. That trunk full of feelings is leaking in my chest, threatening to drown my entire system.
“Millie.” My voice is so deep and scratchy that I almost don’t recognize it.
Her attention dips to my mouth for an instant before she jerks back into her seat. “We should probably get to work,” she whispers, avoiding my eyes.
Suddenly realizing that I’ve tilted halfway to her seat, I take a deep breath and force myself all the way back into my own, trying to cool the heat coursing through me.
“Sounds good,” I choke out, even though it doesn’t. I’d rather stay here with her.
We both sling our bags over our shoulders, and I follow Millie out of the coffee shop. Under the gray morning sky, she scans the sidewalk and street like she’s checking to make sure her ex is nowhere in sight.
I’ve never even seen this asshole, but I hate him.
Quite a few people are downtown this morning, walking in and out of shops and cafés. I shift to Millie’s other side, near the street, and put my hand on her back to begin our walk toward the museum. I drove to Maggie’s, but I’ll walk with her, just in case she runs intohimagain.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
She sighs. “We broke up, like, six months ago, and I’m definitely over him. He has the sex appeal of a wet paper towel and the personality of a rock you keep stubbing your toe on.”
I snort a laugh. “Oddly specific.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” she grumbles. “I’m getting back to normal, though. I can finally look in the mirror and see myself. My natural wavy hair, my favorite clothes, and my genuine smile. I’m not the version he criticized and altered into what he wanted. And I feel so”—she pauses to look up at me—“peaceful without him.” She tilts her head up to the sky like she’s asking the universe, “So why do I panic when I see him or get a text from him?”
I touch her fingertips and pull her to a gentle stop under an antique store awning. She turns to me and doesn’t try to pull her hand away, so I keep my fingers lightly against hers. “Toxic people will do that to you. Your brain can completely shut down around them to protect itself from those awful memories. But you don’t owe him anything. Not a text, a conversation, or even a glance. He made you feel like you weren’t good enough. Like you had to change for him. But you don’t have to change for anyone.”
