“You’re reading … again? I thought we were going to go out to dinner.”
Sahara held up a finger to indicate she needed a moment longer.
“Seriously? You’re going to do this on our anniversary?” The keys in Jacob’s palm cut into his fingers as his grip tightened.
“Just one more minute,” Sahara snapped and exhaled a breath in irritation. She refused to look at him, deciding instead to focus her eyes on the text to try and recapture the images swirling around her imagination; the story was simply too good to put down. “I’m at the good part,” she fairly whispered and licked her lips in anticipation.
Jacob looked at the clock on their mantle. He had made reservations for them at their favorite restaurant, the restaurant they had gone to on their first date nearly four years ago. They had eleven minutes to make it. And he knew, from past experience, if they were even a second late, the maître d’ would give their table away with nary a guilty thought.
He could feel his resentment beginning to boil. He felt the familiar tug of unsuppressed rage but worked to control it. He glanced at the cover of her book. “Romance. I should have known.”
She ignored him.
“That trash is ruining our marriage, Sahara.”
That got her attention. Her eyes flew up to lock with his.
“I’m done. You’ve got a choice to make – your damn stories and make believe men, or me, flaws and all. Decide.”
Fiction under 250 words.