7. Julian
JULIAN
She’s not my girlfriend. I shouldn’t care about her ex-husband showing up unannounced. But it’s eating at me. Why did they get divorced? How often does he come to her house to check up on her?
It’s not a roadblock I expected, but Ellie is an interesting woman. I’d be stupid to give up now. Even if she didn’t count last night as an actual date, maybe I need to be more forward.
The thought of making my intentions clear brings a rush of anxiety. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if the ex is still in the picture more than she lets on?
I stare at my phone, considering whether to text her. What would I even say? “Hey, by the way, what’s the deal with your ex-husband?” That would sound possessive, jealous even. I have no right to those feelings.
My thumb hovers over her name in my contacts. Three dots appear suddenly—she’s typing. My heart skips. The dots disappear, then reappear. Finally, a message comes through.
Ellie: About tonight... I had a really good time.
A smile spreads across my face.
Me: Me too.
Ellie: Sorry about Miles.
So she senses my discomfort. I take a deep breath and decide to be straightforward.
Me: It’s okay. I was just surprised. Does he drop by often?
The three dots dance for what feels like eternity.
Ellie: Not usually. He’s still figuring out boundaries.
I wonder if I’m setting myself up for disappointment, becoming the rebound guy. But there’s something about Ellie that makes me willing to take that risk.
Me: Would you like to try for an official date? One where your ex doesn’t crash the ending?
The dots appear and disappear twice before her response comes through.
Ellie: I’d like that.
I stare at those four words for a long moment, warmth spreading through my chest. I don’t want to seem too eager, but who am I kidding? I am eager.
Me: How about tomorrow night? I could pick you up at 7?
Ellie: That works. Where are we going?
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Somewhere nice enough to make it clear this is a real date, but not so fancy that it feels like I’m trying too hard.
Me: There’s a bistro next town over, Salvatore’s. I hear they have amazing risotto.
Ellie: Perfect. I love Italian.
I set my phone down, unable to wipe the grin off my face. Then I remember Miles and pick it back up.
Me: Just to be clear, your ex-husband won’t be joining us for dessert, right?
The dots appear almost immediately.
Ellie: Ha! No. I’ll make sure he knows I have plans.
The fact that she needs to tell him anything gives me pause, but I push the thought away. They share a history. It makes sense they’d still communicate.
Me: Looking forward to it.
Ellie: Me too. Goodnight.
I set my phone on the nightstand and lean back against my headboard. Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough. But as I drift toward sleep, Miles’ face appears in my mind—the territorial way he stood in Ellie’s doorway, how comfortable he seems in her space.
What am I getting myself into?