Page 74 of His Surrender

The worst part? Jeremy is wonderful. He is exactly the kind of man every woman hopes she’ll meet.

Funny without trying too hard. Confident without being arrogant.

He asked questions—and actually listened to the answers. He told me about moving to New York after graduate school, about buying his condo in the building three years ago, about how he’d somehow become the designated dog sitter for half the residents on his floor because he worked from home.

By the end of dinner, I’d laughed more than I had all week.

He walked me back to the building without once making me feel uncomfortable.

He didn’t try to kiss me or push for anything. Just smiled and said he’d had a really nice time before asking if maybe we could do it again sometime.

He was … nice.

So, why couldn’t I stop comparing him to Dean?

I close my eyes and groan into my coffee mug. This is exactly why dating is such a disaster.

Instead of paying attention to the man sitting across from me, I spent half the dinner replaying what had happened in the lobby.

Dean walking between us without so much as a hello.

The clipped way he’d introduced me.

“I employ Aubrey.”

Not, This is my friend Aubrey.

Not, She’s our wonderful nanny.

Just, “I employ Aubrey,” like I was another business asset he’d acquired.

The memory still stings.

What made it worse was that I’d spent the entire previous week mourning the loss of the Dean I actually liked.

The one who laughed with me over breakfast. Who asked about my family. Who lingered after work just to hear about something ridiculous Liana had done that day.

He disappeared without explanation. One morning, he was Dean. The next morning, he was Mr. Ledger.

And just when I had finally accepted that maybe I’d imagined our friendship … there he was. Walking straight into the middle of my conversation with Jeremy as though he had every right to be there.

I still don’t understand it.

If he’d simply been jealous, that would almost make sense. Maybe not logical sense, but emotional sense. Except jealousy doesn’t explain the week before.

If he wanted distance, why interrupt my date?

I rub my temples. Nothing about Dean makes sense anymore.

Then there’s Friday night.

I honestly don’t know what to do with that. The image of him standing in the dark kitchen flashes into my mind with startling clarity.

His bare feet, in nothing but his briefs, and one hand wrapped around a whiskey glass.

He looked … unsettled. Like someone who’d spent hours fighting a battle entirely inside his own head.

He’d been waiting for me—that much was obvious.