Yes. It’s good. This is good.
A minute later, Annie surfaces from the bathroom and comes back to bed, not hesitating even a second before curling up next to me. “Do you want some coffee?”
I take in her long blonde hair, her soft blue eyes, and the curve of her mouth, and I throw all of my plans out the window and consider doing the one thing that scares the hell out of me: staying. Forget the open road of freedom. I think I have everything I could ever need in my arms.
But then Annie’s phone vibrates on the bedside table. I grab it for her, but the screen lights up and I see the name: Brandon Larsdale （flower shop guy）。
Wordlessly I hand it to Annie, and I don’t even realize I’m hoping this guy is nothing but a flower supplier until she opens the text, not even trying to hide the screen from me at all, and I see the words: “Are we still on for our date this afternoon?”
So, not a flower supplier.
“You…have a date?” I ask her, frowning and hating how pathetic I sound asking it.
“Yeah. Kind of. I meant to tell you, but…I couldn’t find the right time.” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”
My stomach sinks. Annie has a date. “No, that’s…totally fine…great even.” I sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
“Will…” Annie says in a tender tone.
I give her a quick smile over my shoulder to try to keep her from feeling my weirdness. “It’s all good, Annie. Really. This is the right thing. We just said that we’re on different tracks and this is the exact course yours is supposed to take,” I say, focusing extra hard on sounding normal and not like I’m filled with the jealousy of a thousand suns. Like I want to find this guy and shove him against the wall with my fist and warn him not to touch Annie or he’ll die.
I go into the bathroom and splash water on my face and prepare to finger brush my teeth just so I can get a grip. She’s got a date. Annie has a date this afternoon. With a guy. A guy named Brandon. A guy named Brandon is going to take Annie on a date.
Not sure why I’m listing all of these facts off like they belong on a wall with little red strings connecting all the clues. My behavior right now is ridiculous. Pathetic. It’s not as if I didn’t see this coming. It’s literally what we’ve been working toward.
She told me up front her goal was to find her soulmate. Oh God, what if this Brandon guy is her soulmate? He gets to be her soulmate and I’m just her practice person.
I squeeze the toothpaste container too hard and the paste rockets across the bathroom onto the wall.
Annie enters the bathroom at that exact moment and wordlessly wets a washrag and wipes away the bright-colored toothpaste. I have to scrape my hands over my face because she looks so authentically beautiful and calm, and that only serves to make my nerves zing more frantically. Why am I acting like this? I’m never jealous. I never care if a woman I’ve been seeing goes out with another man.
I care if Annie does.
“Wilton,” she says softly, taking my shoulders and angling me toward her. “Let’s talk.”
“We don’t have to.” I manage not to sound immature somehow. But I want her to know that she doesn’t owe me any sort of explanation. She is her own woman and I am…just her friend.
“You came over and made me soup. And took care of me. And snuggled me. And told me you like me. And then saw a text that I’m going out with another guy. Of course I need to tell you what’s going on.”
“We’re not together for real, so…it’s all good. You don’t owe me anything.” See? This is why. This right here is one of the reasons I don’t want marriage or a relationship. You can never predict what a woman’s next move will be or when she’ll do something that hurts like hell.
Annie seems determined to make me look at her. She takes my jaws in her hands. “But do you want to know who that was?”
“Is he your date for today?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think I’m caught up.”
She drops her hands away but continues to skewer me with her relentless gaze. “He’s a guy who came into the flower shop last week while you were out of town. He’s a vet and just moved into the town next to ours.” She pauses. “We hit it off and he asked for my number. I told him up front that I wasn’t looking for anything casual right now, and he said he feels the same, so I gave it to him because—wasn’t that the goal the whole time? I want to get married. I want a family. I need to do this, Will. You don’t understand, but I have to get married. I have this gaping hole in my heart, and I can’t close it up. This is the only thing left to try to close it even though I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work, and you’re going to leave, and I’ll get married, and it’ll still be in there just empty and hurting.” She’s starting to cry.