My eyes burned.
My mind betrayed me, launching me into memories.
The rain on our skin.
The smell of late spring dancing in the air.
The pain in his eyes the night I told him I’d lost the baby—lost the life we had hoped for.
His arms wrapped around me on the same love seat my grandparents gifted us for our forever home.
Now, here I sat. In an empty bar. Heart bleeding. Tears falling. And a husband who wouldn’t even look at me.
“Company likes misery.”
My head snapped up. Carrie slid into the booth across from me, wearing her signature over-the-top, way-too-expensive perfume. It hit me like a solid wall of scent, and I sneezed.
Good god, here we go again, more water to my already overflowing eyes.
“I swear I’m allergic to you,” I muttered, trying to sound light. Not broken.
“You keep telling your jacked-up senses that,” she grinned. “This is the scent of success, baby.”
She looked around—probably for Blake. Who else?
“So,” she said, raising a perfectly arched brow, “you skipping out on work to moon over lover boy?”
My heart dropped fifty feet.
“No,” I replied, trying to shrug it off. “Just morning coffee. And a familiar place to sit and plot.”
“Mmhmm.” She didn’t buy it.
“Can I get you anything?”
A waitress appeared—long blonde hair, tight black skirt, white tee knotted at the front.
I blinked.
I didn’t know her. Had never seen her before.
I didn’t hire her.
Great. Another thing he did without me.
“Um, Blake. Where is Blake?” Carrie’s voice sliced through the awkward. “He always serves us.” Her eyes ping-ponged between the new girl and me, demanding answers. She leaned back; arms crossed and tapped her jet-black nails on her forearm with a rhythmic threat.
“Mr. Allen asked me to serve you ladies,” Blondie said as sweet and warm as peach tea on a winter’s night. Her tone grated down my spine.
I took a breath in.
Held it.
Counted to ten.
“Just a latte. Two shots. One pump salted caramel. And Carrie will have a white mocha latte—two pumps of mint,” I answered for her, nudging her shin beneath the table to hold her back from erupting.
The waitress nodded and walked off, hips swaying like a music video, her heels clicking across wood.
