Page 42 of Not Safe for Work

I shake my head. “Honestly, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t want that either.”

“Thanks,” he says and there’s warmth in that word, better than all the flannel scarves and vanilla lattes in the entire galaxy.

“Anyway”—I gesture to him—“you were saying.”

“Hannah had always been into us trying things out, and we’ve always had fun as friends. She’s gorgeous, I was about to turn thirty, and…” He breaks off and gives me a strange look as though he was about to say something he shouldn’t before adding, “And what was I resisting for?”

I purse my lips but say nothing.

“So we started dating, and it was fine. She’s sweet and doesn’t take anything too seriously. She’s uncomplicated and has lots of friends and people who love her. She’s always busy and trying something new.”

I lean my chin on a fist and look up at him. “I’m waiting for you to get to the part where any of this makes sense. Does she have a third nipple somewhere? A perpetual rash in an inconvenient place? Is she secretly into whipping you with licorice and calling you Daddy?”

“What?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together. “That is so weirdly specific.”

I shrug. “I read a lot of interesting books.”

Amusement dances in his eyes, and this is so addicting.

“Yes, she’s all those good things, and she’ll be the perfect wife for a million guys. Just not for me.”

I sit up, pressing my palms to my knees, suddenly liking this story much better. I am a terrible person. Despite what I just said about needing them back together, I shouldn’t be rooting for their demise. I shouldn’t care this much.

“Why not?” I have to know. I am dying of curiosity. I need to know why this perfect woman isn’t enough for Rafe Gallagher.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s not something I can put into words. All I know is that it doesn’t feel quite right.” He levels me with a look I can’t interpret. “I want someone who makes me feel a little like I’m… burning in the best kind of way.”

He stops, his chest heaving as if admitting this out loud has cost him something. As if this is the first time he really let himself acknowledge these words.

“But how do you explain that? I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want our friendship to end. We’ve known each other since we were babies. And our families… I don’t want to blow everything up. This will kill my mom. I know I should have broken it off a long time ago, but… I felt pressured to make it work. She deserves better than that, and I can’t give her what she wants.”

He’s still holding the box of macarons, one hand cupped around each end. I take it from him and place it on the chair next to me as he braces his elbows on his knees and looks down at his feet.

“How have you kept it from your parents for so long?” I ask.

He shakes his head and looks up. “My dad is always working, and I’ve had to deflect with my mom. Thankfully, she’s been pretty busy lately, too. I hate deceiving her, and I think she suspects something is up.”

“Is this why you didn’t want to share a room with your dad?”

He rolls his shoulders. “Partly.”

There’s more he isn’t saying, but when he doesn’t elaborate, I continue. “That’s a lot. But surely your family understands if things don’t work out? They had to know it wasn’t a given just because they’re all friends?”

He lets out a dry laugh. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? They’re all smart, successful people who have every moment of their lives planned. I don’t think they ever considered it. This just fits into their vision.”

The waves crash below as we sit in silence. I’m not sure what to say. I’m a little surprised he’s being so raw and honest in my presence.

“I know there are people in the world with far worse problems, and I must sound like such a privileged asshole right now,” he says.

“Rafe,” I interrupt. “It’s okay. I mean, yeah, there are people who have it worse, but you’re allowed to have misgivings about the circumstances of your life, regardless of how they might seem to others.”

He gives me a grateful look that unlocks some rusty, buried cavern in my heart.

“I bought a ring in some kind of last-ditch attempt to convince myself this was what I wanted, but the minute I held it, I knew I could never propose. But she found out and thinks I’m just having cold feet right now. She thinks I’m going to change my mind.” He glances at his phone lying on the chair like it’s a poisoned viper. “She won’t take no for an answer and still shows up at my apartment all the time. I was honestly so relieved to come here just to put some physical distance between us. I told her we’d talk when I get back.”

“And tell her what?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I guess the ugly truth, as harsh as it might sound.”