Page 62 of Meet Me Back Here

“Forrest,” I whisper urgently, and he finally turns his head to me. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently nothing,” he says, a bite to his tone.

“What does that mean?” I ask, trying to figure out why he’s being such a dick.

“Nothing,” he says. Then he jerks his head over my shoulder. “Time to eat.”

I guess the stuffing was the last thing that needed to be finished because Melina stands in the doorway to the kitchen, announcing dinner is ready. I huff a little, but Forrest fixes a pleasant look on his face and turns away from me.

We file into the kitchen and each grab something from the counters or out of the oven and begin the train to the table. In addition to Melina’s chorizo stuffing, Jenna made roasted agave hearts and a beautiful salad filled with berries. Ava and Liam brought a lamb stew that Liam’s Irish family grew up eating, and Linda and Santi brought chipotle mashed potatoes and my favorite—esquites. I’d eat my body weight in esquites if left unattended.

When we sit at the oval table, Melina is at one end and her mother is at the other. Jenna, Ava, and Liam are on one side. Then I’m next to Melina with Forrest on my other side and Santi beside him. Forrest still looks like he licked something sour, and without thinking, I kick him sharply under the table. His head snaps to me, and I give him a will you chill the fuck out look.

Was it the most mature on my part? No. But he deserved it.

He seems startled for a second, but he takes a breath and appears to relax.

Linda says a quick grace in Spanish, and plates start getting passed around.

“You good?” I mutter, the sounds of serving mostly masking my question.

“Yep,” Forrest says, telling me that while he looks better, he’s still in a foul mood. “I’m fine.”

If we get through this dinner, I might throttle him for being like this. The meal actually goes surprisingly well if you ignore the fact that Forrest barely speaks and keeps glaring toward my end of the table. The rest of us are loud enough that I hope nobody but me notices. A quick glance at Melina tells me she’s clocked his behavior too.

As dinner slows down, Melina starts to get up to collect the dessert options, but I wave her off.

“Forrest,” I say sternly. “Help me carry dessert.”

It’s not a question, and Forrest wordlessly follows me again.

“What is your problem with Melina?” I snap, keeping my voice low. “What happened since line dancing? You seemed to like her when we talked about everyone at golf.”

“Yeah. You’ve been clear about how great you think she is,” Forrest says, and starts unboxing the apple pie we brought. Is it possible to aggressively unbox a pie?

“What is that supposed to mean?” I take the box from his hands and drop it on the counter. I just want him to look at me.

But when he does, there’s fire in his eyes again. I’ve seen it before. Recently, too.

“Oh my god, are you jealous?” I say as my jaw drops in disbelief.

“No,” Forrest says, looking away again. But the lie is the most obvious thing I’ve ever seen.

“Forrest, we’re friends. I told you that,” I snap.

“Sure. I saw how close you were in here before,” he snaps back. This is unbelievable. What does he have to be jealous about? That she got lipstick off my face and then we laughed?

“Forrest, what the fuck? Jenna is Melina’s girlfriend. They live here together,” I tell him. This makes no sense. “Melina and I are only friends. I told you that, and you need to be ok with it.”

At least now he has the decency to look embarrassed.

The silence around us is heavy. I watch him deflate.

“Fuck, you’re right,” he groans, looking ashamed. “I didn’t⁠—”

“You didn’t think? I know. But what do you care anyway? You have Bridget,” I snap again. The double standard is bullshit, even if he completely misread the situation. And if I’ve barely thought of Bridget this whole trip…

Forrest’s eyes catch on something at doorway to the living room behind me. I look over my shoulder and find Melina standing there.