Page 22 of Flirting with 40

“Because I know her type. She would have jumped me on the sidewalk if I’d given her an inkling I was interested.”

“Such arrogance,” I say teasingly because there’s an ease with Slade that I can’t put my finger on. A way that makes me feel comfortable when I should be mortified by everything he knows about me thus far, none of which casts me in a favorable light.

“Ah, but is it arrogance if it’s true?” He takes a sip of his beer. “What’s the story between the two of you anyway?”

“We met in college. Dated and got engaged. He moved out here for a job, and I followed.” I shrug. “We had what I thought was a normal marriage until we didn’t. He told me he was unhappy and wanted out . . . that out was sleeping with his receptionist. Apparently Barbie’s job description entailed a whole lot more than just filing papers and answering phones.”

“Were you devastated?”

I purse my lips in thought. “Yes and no. I thought what we had was how it was supposed to be . . . but when I was forced to sit back and look at it, I realized we were just going through the motions, too scared to admit it was over long before then.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow,” he murmurs.

“It still hurt. I still felt like a failure. And seeing them today was like a punch in the gut.” I stare at my drink, a bittersweet smile on my lips. “I had always wanted kids, but he always pushed them off . . . so to hear that he wants them now after I gave them up for him was a bit jarring.”

“No one likes to see something they’ve put so much effort into fail.”

“True, but I will say that maybe it was for the best. I lost a part of myself, and now, it’s my job to find her again.” I laugh softly. “Hell, I’m not sure if it’s worse knowing my husband is about to marry a woman who I don’t think will stick around or if I should take slight joy in the fact that, in time, Karma will most likely do her thing and return the favor.”

He looks at me above the rim of his glass and holds my gaze. “Maybe a bit of both.”

I shake my head, not liking that I’m sitting in a nice restaurant with a handsome man, who unexpectedly helped me have a little tit for tat moment with my ex, and all we’re talking about is me and Paul and Barbie.

“I appreciate you humoring me with all of this,” I say, “but what about you? I know nothing about the man who just rescued me from making an idiot out of myself.” I angle my head to the side and stare at him.

“Yes, you do. You know I like the mountains, have a mom who I love madly but who needs to end her trip out here soon because she’s a busybody, and . . . and I believe in second chances for women who leave bars after giving me a fake number.” The lightning-quick grin he flashes me does things to my insides I haven’t felt in what feels like forever. But I welcome the flutter, the spark, the whatever you want to call it.

Then I realize what he just said—that he called the number on the card thinking it was me.

Should I say something? Apologize? Explain?

That would only make me look like more of an idiot. Panic has me opting to pretend as if I didn’t just have that revelation.

“But, seriously,” I murmur, “you didn’t have to step in. You’ve been more than kind. I was just a little stunned by seeing them, by you coming to the rescue—”

“Do you have a pen?” he asks.

“Uh, sure. Why?” I ask, uncertain whether I should be miffed that he isn’t acknowledging what I’m saying, but by the sudden urgency in his voice, I let it go, dig through my bag, and hand my pen over to him. He takes it, and without saying a word, starts writing on the cocktail napkin in front of him. I’m trying not to read it upside down, but the curiosity is killing me.

As I wait, I glance around the restaurant. If the delicious scents coming out of the kitchen weren’t enough to win someone over, the dark décor, the cozy seating, relaxed vibe would be enough to warrant the line of people waiting outside to get in.

“There,” Slade says as he pushes the napkin across the table to me.

“There?”

“Yep.” He leans back with a smug smile on his lips as he motions to the waitress, but I don’t hear what he says to her because I’m too lost in the words on the napkin written in his chicken-scratch.

Blade’s To-Do List:

Make Paul regret he ever let you go.

Figure out our history: when we met, how long your legs really are, pet peeves, etc.

Make Horrible Heather see you differently.

Win your co-workers over by being fucking awesome.

Convince everyone we are madly in love and meant to be.