I toss the wrapper from my gyro into the trash. “He was thinking that he was helping the owners keep their dream alive.”
Barrett taps a finger on the side of his mouth. “You have a little something there.”
Of course, I do. This night has been nothing but one disaster after another. I saw my college boyfriend. I dripped yogurt sauce on my sweater and now I’m proving to my boss that I can’t eat without leaving a trail of food on my face.
I swipe a finger over both sides of my lips to be extra certain that I got whatever was left behind.
Barrett leans forward on the bench we’re sitting on. “Emil Burdeon. Let’s talk about him.”
I thought we’d skip over the subject of my ex when we got our food and sat down. Barrett launched into a long-winded speech about everything that is wrong with Party Hearty. I didn’t say a word because every point he made was valid.
My silence wasn’t just because I agreed with him. I was in shock. Seeing Emil was jarring. I’m over him, but there’s still a bite of something when I see him. Maybe it’s regret that I stuck it out as long as I did.
“What’s the story with you two?” Barrett presses for more. “Does he fall into the one and done category?”
I close my eyes briefly before I turn and look at him. “No. I thought Emil was the one until it was done.”
Chapter 25
Barrett
The one.
That’s a concept I’ve never been able to wrap my head around. How in the hell does a person decide to devote himself or herself to one human being for eternity?
The deer-in-the-headlights look on Isabella’s face when she saw Burdeon told me enough of their story that I knew he was someone special to her.
To hear that he was almost “the one” is still surprising.
When I was in my early twenties, I couldn’t nail down a decision about what to eat for breakfast. Isabella was light years ahead of me if she was contemplating whether a guy was the forever to her happy-ever-after.
I don’t talk rainbows, butterflies, or anything related to hearts, but I dive in because this is a story I want to hear. “You were in love with him?”
She looks just as surprised that I asked the question as I am. She nods. “For a time, I was, yes.”
Not giving a shit that the question is completely out-of-line, I ask it. “What happened?”
She shifts on the bench. “Life happened.”
It’s none of my fucking business. That’s what her body language is telling me. She’s as uncomfortable now as she was when she saw me without a shirt. The problem is that this time, I’m pushing her to a place she doesn’t want to go.
Just as I’m about to suggest we hit up a bar a block over for a drink to talk business, she darts to her feet. “I need to go home.”
Like hell she does.
Tossing the paper cup in my hand in the trash, I stand. “What’s the rush?”
“I start work early.”
“You start at eight,” I point out.
Her gaze darts over her shoulder. I follow her lead and spot Burdeon rounding the corner headed in our direction.
She knew. She fucking knew he would come back looking for her. This has to be his pattern because she sure as hell doesn’t seem surprised to see him.
Resignation pulls her shoulders forward. She’s weary. This asshole has worn her out emotionally. I saw the same expression on my mother’s face each time my father circled back around, proclaiming his undying devotion to her.
“It looks like you have company,” I say in an even tone.