“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. “Not you—I don’t blame you at all for breaking up with her. What she did was nuts. I just can’t understand why she’d want to strongarm you into marriage. That seems like a recipe for a miserable life.”
“My best guess? She did it for the money.” He shrugs. “Her family has always struggled financially, and her student loans put her pretty deep underwater. Even with a high-paying law job, it would have taken her decades to pay them off. She knew about my dad’s business and talked all the time about us moving to Cleveland so I could work for him and take over the company someday. So when we started fighting more, maybe she thought her golden ticket to a better life was about to disappear and decided to take any risk to keep me around… even if it backfired.”
“But how did she think she’d be able to keep a fake pregnancy a secret?” I press. “You were bound to find out a few months later when, whoops, no baby.”
His jaw muscles tighten. “I’m guessing she was planning to tragically ‘lose’ the baby as soon as she had a ring… there’s no other explanation.”
I blow out a long breath. “That’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it. Honestly, the whole thing messed me up for a while, but I’m doing a lot better now. Especially since I met you.” He gathers my hand in his and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Enough about Sadie. She’s in the past. What do you say we head back inside?”
“You go ahead. I’d like to stay out here just a couple minutes longer. It really is so hot in there.” I pluck at where my romper clings to my waist and laugh.
“How about I get you some water?”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
Flashing a heart-melting smile over his shoulder, Devin strides across the patio and back into the bar. My shoulders slump as soon as he’s out of sight. He truly is so incredibly thoughtful. And I can barely fathom how difficult things have been for him over the past few months. So why can’t I shake the feeling that something’s still not quite right between us?
My phone buzzes against my hip and I pull it from my pocket. My chest lightens at the name on the screen: Perry Szymanski.
He’s texted me a photo. I tap it to make it larger, and my cheeks immediately warm. It’s a picture of my painting—the one I gave him earlier. It’s hanging next to a framed black-and-white family photo and a watercolor painting of what looks like Brandywine Falls. The bright colors pop against the soft white wall behind it, and the corners of at least three other frames peek out from the edges of the photo. He must have a gallery wall somewhere in his apartment, and he’s already added my painting to it. Sparks fizz in my chest like bubbles from a freshly opened can of pop.
Three dots appear quickly followed by a new text.
Check out the new crown jewel of my apartment: a Cass Walker original. Can you believe it? It was a gift from the artist herself. She’s quite talented, so I bet it’ll be worth a bundle someday.
P.S. Thanks again for the thoughtful gift. I love it
Emotion chokes my throat, and with a shaking finger, I “heart” his text. I don’t know what else I could possibly say in response.
A wave of music rolls over the patio as someone opens the door, and I look up to spot Devin returning with my water. I stuff my phone back into my pocket just as he reaches me. “Here you go.” He extends the tall glass of ice water toward me and I grab it. Condensation slicks my palm as I take a sip. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing as he studies me.
I paste a wide smile on my face, even though my chest aches. How can a simple, sweet text from Perry make me feel like someone’s yanked on a loose thread in my heart, splitting it down the middle like a seam? I can’t be feeling this way about Perry and be with Devin. What is wrong with me? “Never better.”
“Good. Let’s go.” He tilts his head toward the door, a sweet, mischievous grin tugging at his lips. I follow him back into the bar with a heaviness I shouldn’t feel, and a foreboding I can’t ignore.
Devin is my dream man—I can’t deny it. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe not all dreams are meant to come true.
My phone dings from the counter at the exact moment my toast pops out of the toaster. Ignoring the notification, I butter my two pieces of golden-brown brioche, carefully take my two cloud eggs out of the toaster oven, and scoop them onto each slice of toast. Grabbing my plate and coffee, I’m about to sit at the kitchen table when I remember the painting I’d laid out to dry last night. I return my plate and mug to the counter and carefully pick up the eleven-by-fourteen canvas.