A Love Like Ours

Chapter 42

I blew out a breath as I closed the door of my London flat and tossed my keys on the table. I was trying not to worry, but that had been easier to do while I was busy. Now that I was home, now that all was quiet around me and in my head, bothersome thoughts started to creep back into my mind.

It was stupid. Senseless. I thought I'd risen above this feeling.

But when Madelyn had told me that she'd spoken to Rob, that he had a day off for the first time in weeks and wanted to meet with her, I sunk right back down into the simmering depths of jealousy.

"I don't have to, Harry," she'd said over the phone yesterday. "Just because things were fine when you two met doesn't mean I think it's okay to see him. If you feel uncomfortable at all, just say so."

The only problem had been, I didn't want to admit to it. I shouldn't have felt that way—that had been all I could think. I'd met him now. He wasn't the faceless threat to our relationship I had at one point imagined lurking in the shadows. And I could tell just from the five minutes I'd spent in his presence that he didn't have any intentions where Madelyn was concerned. Not anymore. I'd even gone as far as to tell him that I didn't want to stand in the way of their friendship, and rationally, I still didn't.

But irrationally, jealousy filtered its way through cracks I hadn't known were still there somewhere inside me. And it had flared up as soon as Mads had told me he'd texted asking to see her.

"Did you answer him?" I'd asked rather than respond to her statement—rather than acknowledge that yes, I felt uncomfortable.

"Not yet," Mads had said. "I wanted to talk to you first."

She was leaving it up to me, I'd thought with a sinking feeling. "Well, did he say what he wants?"

"Just to catch up, I think. Although he did say he wanted to talk to me about something," she'd replied, and hurried to add, "But, look, Harry, I don't think I'm going to go. I can tell this isn't something you feel comfortable with, and I totally—"

"No," I'd said, feeling stupid and pathetic and surprised with myself all at once. "I mean, I—"

"It's okay," she'd said. "I can just tell him I've got something going on. And it won't even be a lie. I haven't even started packing, and the flight's in two days."

I'd stayed quiet, then. Her flight here. After just over a month apart—during which she'd completed another expedited summer semester of teaching—she was coming here to spend a couple weeks with me before promotion for my album began towards the end of the month. And we'd spent the past month calling and texting as often as possible. Especially when she found things for our flat in Manhattan.

Mads had taken photos of everything, and she'd sent them all to me before purchasing anything, wanting to make sure it was something I would like. And for the most part, I did. She'd gotten stools for the kitchen counter, a desk for the office, towels for the bathrooms and dish towels for the kitchen. She'd also gotten an antique coffee table that matched the wooden beams in the apartment almost perfectly, and was pleased with herself for finding it at a flea market she'd gone to with Emily. She'd even gotten bedding for our bedroom, and had started filling each room with personal things like photos and books. I still hadn't been able to talk her into plants, but she promised we could look for something together when I came back.

And though she'd started bringing some of her things over and leaving them there—winter clothes, for instance—she hadn't actually slept there yet. That, she had said, her first night in her new home, she wanted to spend with me.

All of that had gone through my mind in that moment yesterday, while she waited on the other end of the line for an answer. And I felt even stupider for feeling the least bit insecure in our relationship anymore.