His arrogance frustrated her. It was as if he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand that it was the very reason she’d left him. The mention of the broom softened her though, and for the slightest moment her mouth twitched into a small smile, before she hardened her resolve once more.
“I use it for practice,” she said, clearing her throat, “It’s a good broom.” It really was. She knew that Beau had made it specially for her. Every curve met her body perfectly, every inch was filled with love and hard work. And she hated it. She’d tried using her old Nimbus as a practice broom but it wasn’t the same, no broom would ever be so in sync, so perfect as the DuPont broom.
The mention of her ankle made her nervous. What if he knew? She tried to read him, tried to see if he had any idea that her ankle had in fact been healed in moments. Zara shifted nervously, nodding as if the thought of her injury still plagued her, “Yup. All better now, though.”
The line inched forward, slower than she ever thought it could go. Zara looked around, hoping for some distraction.
“You, um, seeing anyone?” she asked, knowing immediately that her attempt at small talk was the worst possible question she could have asked. It made her seem interested, regretful, needy. It had been weeks, months. They should have been able to do this, talk like random acquaintances, but she still had everything about him memorized - his favorite color, the way he liked his coffee, the feel of his lips on hers, the sound of his breaths as he slept. And she hated it.