Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) Read Free Page A

smells that fill the air. Or maybe it’s because my apartment and the gallery lie in stark contrast to the quaint little shop.
    “Juliette?”
    With my guard down, I’m caught relaxing, so without thinking, I look up. “ Dylan ,” flows from my lips as if it’s still allowed to reside there, as if I say it every day.
    I think of the name often, but I never say it.
    Ever.
    And yet… I just did.

 
     
     
    “I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s you,” Dylan says, glancing around as if everyone should be as surprised as him.
    I swallow—hard—left without any other words in me. He renders me speechless and that’s just not how I ever saw this going when I played this reunion out in my head.
    “Was that you the other night?” he asks. “At the restaurant?”
    Hmmm… How should I respond? Yes , it was, but I avoided you even though I heard you shouting my name, that name, down the street. Or maybe, no , I have no idea what you’re talking about?
    The lie is much more appealing right now. “Which restaurant?” My voice betrays my poor acting skills and goes up an octave.
    “I could’ve sworn that was you, but I wasn’t sure. You look… you look different.”
    Good different or bad different? Ugh, why do I care?
    “I mean, you look really great, Juliette.” There’s that name again, overshadowing what I think is a compliment. Hearing that name makes me cringe and melt all at once. I hate this feeling. I hate how my memory serves me too well and I feel somewhat less of myself just because he’s talking to me.
    “Bistro down on 72nd,” he continues. He’s also still staring at me, seeking, searching.
    I reply, “I ate there the other night.”
    He furrows his brow. “So it was you. Why didn’t you…” I know what he’s going to ask, but he thinks better of it, not finishing. I think he gets the hint that I’m not really open to this conversation. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” Rocking back on his heels, he suddenly seems unsure of his own words, thoughts, of what he should do. “I just wanted to say hello.”
    I angle my head gently to the side to really look at him. He looks good—great, in fact. Time has stood still for him. He looks happy, or at least not unhappy, like the last time I saw him before he left me.
    Two of his fingers tap down on the table and he says, “I should go. It was really nice to see you again, Juliette.” Cringe . “Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime soon.”
    “There’s a possibility since we’ve seen each other twice in the last few days when we hadn’t seen each other at all over the last three years.” I don’t know where this comes from as it bursts from my mouth, like stating some weird statistical anomaly. I should have just let it lie and let him walk away.
    He seems surprised once again, but this time probably because I’ve spoken more than four words. When he smiles at me, I feel the first hairline fracture form on my outermost protective layer, my shield, as if alerting me to tread carefully. I still smile, an old reaction to him.
    Speaking at a much quicker pace this time, he says, “You really do look fantastic. Life is treating you well.”
    That’s where he’d be wrong.
    He glances over his shoulder, seeming to be waiting on someone. I’m sure he is, which causes a dull ache in my heart. When his eyes return to mine, he signals to the large clock over his shoulder. “I’ve got to run. I have a meeting downtown in twenty and I should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
    Maybe that’s what he was looking at before. I thought the worst of him and he proved me wrong. I don’t apologize or even return the smile this time. I owe him nothing more of myself. He took all of that with him when he left years ago.
    “So, yeah, I should get going.” He steps backward and has this goofy grin on his face like he actually is happy to see me.
    I always loved that goofy grin. The small fracture widens every time I feel anything other than scorn for this