Page 55 of Alfie: Part One

Truth be told, I didn’t want to share my chips either. They were hot, crispy, salty, and delicious.

The line for the face painting had become a little shorter when we walked by again, so we figured it was time.

“And I’ll ride the pony after?” Ellie asked to make sure.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Alfie replied. “Then we can eat dinner.”

I nudged Alfie. “The food truck with the sliders looked good.”

“Yeah, sign me up. Didju see the loaded fries? I need to get in on that action.”

I smiled and hated how easy it was to pretend with him. Because it never felt like pretend. We’d gotten together with the kids in the past too, and it was always the same.

Admittedly, I had pushed for activities that forced us to spend the night somewhere, and this was the reason. I soaked up every minute. Even now when we had so many new problems. Even now when I was so fucking angry with him.

Maybe I was hurt more than angry.

I stuck a couple chips into my mouth and counted the people ahead of us. They had four stations with young women turning children—and some parents—into works of glittery art, so it shouldn’t take too long. Six or seven families stood in front of us.

When we walked another few steps forward, Alfie reached up and lifted my shades a bit.

“You look tired.”

I frowned. “Thank you.”

It was his damn fault. I hadn’t slept well lately.

Then again, I wasn’t sure I remembered the last time I’d slept soundly. Long before Alfie and I had separated, at least.

Since we were fairly protected from the sun by the trees, I removed my shades and tucked them into my shirt.

“So, uh…” Alfie cleared his throat and dug through his little bag of chips. He liked the ones that were either folded in half or a little burned. “How’s it goin’ with the new man?”

I had a new man? That was news to me.

“Who would that be?” I quirked a brow.

He rolled his eyes. “The one you went out with, fucking obviously.”

Ah yes, the evening he’d texted me to ask if I was fucking Lance yet. I also recalled the text that had followed.

“We’re not together,” I said.

“Oh?”

An even more important text was the one where he admitted he wasn’t ready to be happy to see me moving on.

I’d read it a dozen times. Minimum.

“I dread the day I have to join dating apps,” I admitted, keeping my voice low. The children were distracted, but they picked up on things easily too.

Alfie nodded. “Here’s an idea. How about you don’t fucking tell me when that day comes?”

I knitted my brows together. I could pick up on things as well, and I hadn’t imagined the hostility in his voice.

He bunched together his bag, still half full, and walked over to the nearest trash can to throw it out. He looked so…down. Annoyed and depressed.

It wasn’t the first time I wanted to ask him what kind of feelings he harbored for me. But as the one who’d demanded the divorce, I felt I didn’t have that right. I also wasn’t sure I could cope with the answer, regardless of what it was. I didn’t want him to be over me—overus. At the same time, the sooner he could move on, maybe I could, too…? Fuck, but the amount of hurt that slashed through me at the mere thought called me out on my bullshit.