“Anyway, I wanted to meet up today because I was thinking,” I begin, “and after what happened yesterday, I don’t think it’s a good idea that we continue our friendship.”
Ian’s expression falls, his gaze shaded in disbelief. “You can’t break up with a friend, Maritza. Who does that?”
“It’s not a break-up. I just don’t want to cause any more rifts between you and your brother, and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about my intentions,” I say. “For now, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if we all just went our own ways.”
His chiseled jaw unclenches and he clears his throat before scanning the room. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to see his ego in real time.
We linger a bit, neither of us saying anything. I’ve already said my part, but apparently I’ve left Ian speechless.
My phone vibrates in my bag and I reach down to silence it, catching Rachael’s name flashing across the screen. I told her I was coming here today to have this talk with Ian, so she’s probably just checking to see how it went. I’ll call her back when I leave.
“You okay?” I ask, brows lifted. “You’re so quiet over there.”
“You’re still in love with Isaiah, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. He came home, you saw him, and you—”
I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with him. And I was never in love with him.”
Ian rolls his eyes before checking his watch. “All right. Well, you’re not that fucking special anyway.”
“Ian.” I half-chuckle because I can’t tell if he’s joking.
He rises, straightening his red silk tie. “You’re just a waitress with nice tits.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His honey eyes scan the length of me and his full mouth twists at one side, as if he’s suddenly judging me.
“Evidently, Isaiah was right about you,” I say.
Ian scoffs. “Believe what you want to believe, Maritza. At the end of the day, I know the truth about the kind of person he is, and honestly, you two deserve each other.”
His chair screeches across the tile floor, and just like that he’s pushing past a handful of teenage girls with iced coffees in their manicured hands.
Way to make an exit, jackass.
Good riddance …
My phone buzzes one more time and I glance down to see Rachael’s calling again. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I lift it to my ear and answer.
“Rach, what’s up? He just left,” I say. “And let me tell you, he reallllly doesn’t like being rejected. Holy shit. You should’ve seen hi—”
“—Cooper has a fever of a hundred and four and he’s saying his ear hurts,” she cuts me off. “I’m so sorry. I hate to ask you this, but I can’t get a hold of my mom or the sitter. Would you mind staying with the other two while I run him to urgent care?”
Rising and gathering my things, I say, “No, of course not. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, sweets. I swear this is his third ear infection in three months.” Rachael sighs, and my heart goes out to her. I have no idea what single motherhood is like and I imagine it’s the hardest thing in the world, but she always handles it like a trooper.
“Don’t stress, okay? I’m leaving now.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Isaiah
“What’s in there?” A wide-eyed, blonde-haired, lanky-armed spawn of Rachael peers into the small cardboard box I brought over.
“Stuff,” I say.
“What are you going to do with that stuff?” she asks.
“Things.”
“What kind of things?” she asks.
“Caitlyn,” Rachael says, striding into the room in a sweatshirt and leggings and guiding her daughter away. “I’m sorry. She asks a million questions and she doesn’t know when to stop.”
“It’s fine.” I’m seated on a worn-down sofa covered in flowers in the cozy living room of Maritza’s co-worker’s bungalow.
It’s surreal being here and I have no idea if I’m going to make the world’s biggest fool of myself or walk away with the ultimate victory, but I have to try.
I owe it to myself. And to her. To Us.
“Thanks again for doing this for me,” I tell her, slicking my hands together.
“Of course.” She waves her hand. “She’s going to kill me for lying to her, but I think—I hope—everything’s going to work out for you guys.”
Earlier this morning, I stopped into the restaurant hoping to catch Rachael. All I wanted to know was if she gave Maritza the letter because I couldn’t comprehend why she’d still be so distant and upset with me if she knew the truth.
But when Rachael told me Maritza refused to read it, she unexpectedly softened the blow by offering to help in any way she could.
“She’s a stubborn old mule sometimes,” Rachael says. “Usually she’s this happy-go-lucky girl flitting around with a smile on her face but once she digs her heels into the ground, there’s rarely any moving them.”