When Girlfriends Break Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page B

man I was coming to resent, to hate?
    There was no backing out: the door swung open before I knocked, and there stood Brandon, looking as alluring as   the first moment I laid eyes on him.  
    “Hi,” I breathed rather huskily.  
    “Hello.” He opened the door wider and motioned for me to step inside.
    The apartment had the familiar scent of vanilla. No wonder; the candles on the fireplace mantel were lit and flickering beautifully in the low apartment light. What was he trying to do? Set some romantic mood? He rarely, if ever, lit the candles by his own choosing. That was always my habit. Was Brandon going to try to make up and get back together? I suddenly felt very uncomfortable—and I actually felt a bit uncertain if possible advances from him would in fact, as I had planned if need be, be denied. If Brandon wanted me back would I really say no? Was I strong enough to do that?
    “How was work?” he asked, helping me take off my cashmere cardigan.  
    “Thanks,” I said, taking a seat on what appeared to be his new sofa, no doubt bought within twenty-four hours of Conner hauling mine out of his place. “It was good. Nice new sofa.”
    He nodded his head, cramming his hands into his pockets, a habit I quickly learned was done when he was either uncomfortable or bored. I took it at that moment to mean he was uncomfortable. He wasn’t alone.
    “Wine?” he asked, heading towards the kitchen.
    I had spent so many hours in that tiny kitchen, bumped my elbows so often on the counters due to the narrow walkway and the close proximity of the shelves and cupboards. Far from a baker’s dream, perhaps, but it was all I had had. And no kitchen, however small, could keep me from whipping up a new quiche or brioche or chocolate-filled croissant. Upon seeing it again I immediately missed it. I missed my home. And I missed what I had with Brandon.
    “Sure. I’ll take a Riesling.” I pulled myself together, then added responsibly, “Not too much.”  
    “It sucks not having that wine cooler here anymore,” he said.
    What a jerk. That’s what he misses?
    I didn’t answer. I figured my silence would be signal enough to him that that was a jackass thing to say.
    “You were so good about having different wines here and getting me to try different things…stretch my palette.” He was milking it. What did he want?
    He took a seat next to me on his new sofa, handing me one of the glasses of Riesling, and I couldn’t help but hope that one of us would “accidentally” spill on his fine new suede addition to the living room.
    “So you say work was good, huh?” he asked.  
    “Brandon.” I took a quick sip of the deliciously soft bouquet. “Let’s cut to it. What happened?”
    He took a sip as well, and cleared his throat, obviously stalling.
    “What happened…” he trailed.
    “Why’d you do it?”  
    “It wasn’t easy, Soph.”
    Please don’t use that name.
    “I didn’t want to…not for awhile,” he continued. “I mean, I had thought for awhile about how my feelings were changing and then ran the idea of breaking up through my head…and I just didn’t know what to do…didn’t know what I wanted…in life.” He rubbed his strong hands against his equally strong jaw line.  
    “I spent the last few weeks of our time together really thinking about where we were going. Did I want to get married…did I want to settle down…did I want… us .”
    I started to sip quickly at my wine, a bad habit I do at parties or social events when I’m uncomfortable. I wished cramming my hands in my pockets would work, but wine tastes really good, and pockets don’t exactly go with slinky dresses.  
      “These were questions I was running through over and over,” he continued. “And when I really thought about it and came up with a decision in my head, and realized I was fine with it, I just had to do it. It wouldn’t be fair to you to drag you through my problems. I know you wanted to get married and