Page 82 of Under the Weatherman
I glanced up, expecting Kyan to be calling me back, but instead Evan approached, his eyebrows drawn together. I raised my hand in a wave. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“We just wrapped up, and I wanted to unwind. I was going to text you, but”—he glanced at the restaurant sign overhead—“I thought you said you were working.”
“I was. I mean, I am. I’m on a break.” I crossed my arms over my chest again, regretting my decision to come outside without a jacket.
“You’re working…here?”
I’d never mentioned it, not after he’d passed judgment on Kyan for tending bar, like it was something to be ashamed of. “Time is money,” I said, defensively, a little annoyed at his dismissive tone.
“But how can you work in a bar? It must be so noisy.”
Noisy? Something clicked. “Did you think I was editing tonight?”
“Well, yeah, I assumed—”
“Elizabeth, could you—” Kyan leaned out the door, suddenly grinning when he noticed who I was with. “Oh, hey, Evan.”
“Kyan,” Evan said, with an edge to his voice.
“I was going to call you,” Kyan said, oblivious to Evan’s frosty tone. “You free this weekend?”
“I’ve got a few things planned,” he shot me a look, a reminder I was one of those things. “Why what’s up?”
Kyan dragged the rag off his shoulder, twisting in his hands. “Thought you might wanna come hang out with some of the old gang. Just casual.”
“Maybe.”
Kyan looked at me and said, “Sorry, but it’s getting busy again,” before dipping back inside.
Evan scowled. “What’s going on? Are you here with Kyan?”
“What do you mean? Kyan’s working.”
He closed his eyes. “You’re not waiting for him out here?”
I snorted. “You think I’m waiting around forKyan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just asking.”
I took a step toward the door, then turned back as his meaning hit me. “Wait. Are you jealous?”
“Should I be?”
Oh, my God. He totally was. I couldn’t help smile. I couldnevertell Chelsea about this or she’d give me hell for entertaining a huge red flag. She often said that every accusation was a confession. So if he worried I was two-timing him, did that mean he had a history of cheating?
Our conversation at his house on Tuesday came flooding back. After dating a married woman, it was more likely that he had a history of being cheated on, unless he’d downplayed his own innocence in that affair. But then why would he tell me about it?
He’d asked me to extend a little grace around exactly this type of scenario. He had relationship trauma, and he was going to be messy. He’d probably cut and run if I didn’t assure him everything was copacetic. I’d already experienced that once.
So I did as he asked and took the high road.
“No, Evan. You definitely shouldn’t be jealous.” I touched his arm. “And if you are, you should tell me. Remember what we said about communicating?”
He breathed in and exhaled shakily, his body relaxing in a way that gave away how tense he’d been a moment before. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Kyan and I have some history, and I know what a player he can be.”
“He is that.” I laughed. “But he’s mostly harmless. And I wouldn’t do you like that.”
“So again, why are you here then?” He swallowed, like he was fighting against the vulnerability the question revealed, the importance of my reasons.
