Devil You Know

RENDEZVOUS

Jane

TO SAY Thursday feels like any other day in my shitty existence would be a blatant lie. I woke up this morning humming. For the first time in as long as I can remember I have something to look forward to.

Nerves swirl throughout me as I approach my regular supermarket. It's a family-run store, and I know the place like the back of my hand. I know where everything Dylan likes is shelved, and if you ask me, I can probably tell you their prices, too.

Usually, the trip is done with such robotic precision that I've found myself unpacking the bags at home and staring at a can in my hand, trying to remember when I picked it up.

Today though, I'm alert. I'm wired. I'm full of anticipation.

Because he'll be here.

I do my best to scan the parking lot and entrance as I approach without looking over-eager. A piece of my hope chips away with every empty sweep, and as I reach for the handle of a shopping cart, my mind begins its switch back over to autopilot.

"Starting without me?"

The simple lull of his words jolts me back to my senses with such force I have to close my eyes to stop a damn head-rush taking me over.

"You okay?" He gently touches my arm, and ducks his head down to make eye contact.

"Fine," I lie. "Probably need to drink more water is all."

"Yeah." He nods, his scrutinizing stare saying he totally doesn't buy my bullshit for a second. "It is pretty dry today."

"Are you . . .?" I gesture to the carts.

He shakes his head. "No. Only here to see you."

A blush peppers my face. I can't get through the turnstile and put him behind me fast enough. He catches up when I pause to get bananas, and takes the helm of the cart.

"Did you need to talk to me about something?" I ask, avoiding looking at him at all costs. One look in those eyes, and shame will render me speechless—shame at the impure thoughts I've been having about a man other than my husband.

Who do I think he is? My Prince Charming? My knight in shining armor?

"Yeah, I do. I want to help you, Jane."

"I don't need to complicate things," I say with a frown. "It's hard enough keeping under the radar as it is. I can't go messing around with the way things are—it could go really bad for me."

He pushes the cart beside me for a while in silence. I place my items in as he follows. I've said my piece, and all I can do is hope he understands where I'm coming from.

"I don't like the idea of you staying there."

"It's not your choice to make."

"Yeah," he scoffs, "well you don't seem to be in the frame of mind to make the right one if you don't mind me saying."

I stiffen as I lift a packet of herbs from the shelf. "I do mind, actually."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." We round the corner to the meat section, and he absently runs his finger along the front of the metal shelving. "I found somewhere for you to stay. I want you to leave tonight."

The chicken breasts in my hand drop to the display in their cling-film-wrapped tray. "Sorry?"

"I found you somewhere to stay," he repeats. "You have to leave."

My eyes glaze over. I stare at the labels on the packages of meat, but nothing registers. Noise mutes around me while I retract into my thoughts.

He found me somewhere to stay.

I can't get past the fact he went so far as to do that.

"Are you going to tell me what you think?" he urges.

"I, uh . . ." What? Am too much of a coward to try? Am I too beaten to think for myself? Don't believe there's a happy ending to my story? "I mean, it sounds wonderful, but—"

"—you're afraid to. I get it. Maybe I should have talked to you about it first."

I pick up the package of chicken again, and place it in the cart. "Even if you asked first, I would have said the same thing. It's just too risky."

He looks over the meat as I watch him. I can't tell from the expression on his face if I've insulted him by saying 'no', or disappointed him. Either would be as bad, so what does it matter? He picks up a tray of steak, and hands it over. "This looks like a good deal."

I take the offered meat, and our hands linger for a moment. Instead of looking at what he passes to me, I make a mistake—I look at him. Our eyes lock, and I can't look away.

"Jane?" What the?

My flesh pebbles, and I drop the meat into the cart as fast as my neighbor releases it.

"Is he bothering you?" Dylan steps up, and places a possessive arm around my shoulders. Why is he here? Why today?

"No, not at all," I stutter.

Neighbor looks us over, and turns his focus to Dylan. "Your wife here reached for the same steak as I did. I was simply letting her have what she wants."

The double innuendo isn't lost on me. Like the way he hissed 'wife' through clenched teeth wasn't either.

"You don't look like you're doing any shopping," Dylan scathes. "Where's your basket?"

"Where's yours?" Neighbor snaps back.

I stiffen in Dylan's hold, ridiculous thoughts racing through my head, telling me Dylan knows everything; that he knows where Rocco is.

"Anyway, all yours now." Neighbor takes a step back and turns, heading farther into the supermarket.

"I didn't expect to see you this morning," I tell Dylan while he drops me like a hot potato.

"Broken cooler in the butchery," he replies in dull notes.

Dylan walks away without so much as a 'see you tonight, honey,' or a peck on the cheek for his adoring wife. What a fucking farce that would have been. I stand and watch him walk across to the deli, and talk to a woman who lets him behind the counter.

"Hey, Jane. Long time, no see."

"Hey, Patrick." I smile forcibly as Dylan's work buddy passes by with a toolbox, and presumably parts for their job.

Damn Dylan doing industrial fridge repairs. Damn me for telling Neighbor to meet me at the usual supermarket.

Damn me for saying 'no'.

I carry on my way, equal parts angry, and feeling cheated. Neighbor passes me by several aisles later, carrying a loaf of bread, and a bag of dog food. He doesn't say a thing—only eyes me with what I can place as a mixture of pity and contempt as he passes by.

I finish my shopping with a familiar sense of loneliness. Once again, my life is hollow. Once again, I'm on my own.

Once again, Dylan won.