I reach for the kettle and pour myself a cup of coffee. Everything about this morning feels like tension stretched too tight. I’ve been awake since five. Who am I kidding? I didn’t sleep at all. I just tossed and turned all night, haunted by everything I’ve spent the last three years trying to bury—his name, his face, his voice, every damn memory that refuses to fade. And now, I have to face him.
My fingers curl around the mug, and I breathe in the scent of the coffee. It’s not that I’m nervous about seeing my ex-husband. No, it’s not that. It’s that I’d rather not see him at all. Just the idea of standing across from him, even for a moment, exhausts me.
Sipping my coffee, I lean against the kitchen counter and stare out the window. And despite everything going on in my head, I take a moment to admire the morning’s view of the trees lining the boulevard, their leaves still damp from the night’s mist as the river shimmers faintly through the haze.
After my divorce, I moved into this three-bedroom apartment, leaving behind the house Landon and I once shared. I just couldn’t bear to stay in the place that held all ourmemories. We’d both invested in it, yes, but I didn’t want anything to do with it. So I sold it and gave Landon his share as a parting gift.
I let out a breath and close my eyes for a moment, hoping for even a flicker of calm, yet my mind keeps tumbling through restless circles. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to react when I see him, let alone interview him. What am I even supposed to say?Hello, Mr. Hayes. Care to explain why you left without so much as a goodbye?
God, I just hope I don’t end up hurling curses at him… or hot coffee. Honestly, both feel well-deserved, but I know I can’t. I have to stay professional and remember that I’m a top journalist now, not his ex-wife still pining for him.
But hell, when has staying calm ever been easy when it comes to that jerk?
Even now, just thinking about the fact that he specifically requested me for the interview, for God knows what reason, is enough to get under my skin. And, of course, he wants the meeting at his house.
I bet the only reason he chose his house is because he thinks the private setting will throw me off. Typical Landon. After all, torturing me has always been his specialty, and I’d bet every penny I have that he’s aiming to do it again.
I grip my mug a little tighter. But what he doesn’t realize is that it doesn’t matter where this interview takes place—his house, his office, hell, even the goddamn church where we once saidI do. None of it changes the fact that I’m no longer the woman who is affected by him anymore. Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of pretending he doesn’t matter.
And just like that, my mind begins to chant the mantra:He is my past. That’s all he is.
“Careful, you’re holding the mug too tight. You might break it.”
I blink and turn, catching sight of Mick as he strolls into the kitchen.
He’s shirtless, as usual. I smile and take a moment to look at him. Handsome features, broad shoulders, lean frame, a constellation of tiny scars from God knows what, and a tattoo peeking out from beneath his collarbone. He does total justice to his job as a model. A towel hangs loosely around his neck, and his dark hair is still damp from the shower, the water droplets slowly trailing down his chest. Honestly, I almost feel bad for the entire female population because they don’t stand a chance with him.
“Morning to you too.”
“Morning,” he replies, making a beeline for the fridge.
I smile at him. “She didn’t let you sleep?”
“Not even for a minute,” he grumbles, pulling out the orange juice. He takes a swig straight from the carton and sets it back in the fridge before turning to me with a raised eyebrow.
“So… all set to meet your husband today?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Ex-husband.”
“Ah, my bad.Ex-husband,” he repeats, dragging out the word like it has too many syllables.
I roll my eyes and take another sip. “Will you stop being so dramatic? I seriously don’t have the energy for this today.”
“Right, because you’re meeting your ex-husband, and you need all your energy for that,” he says with a grin and drops onto the stool across from me.
“You’re insane.”
“No, babe, I’m concerned. Because you’re playing it way too cool for someone who is about to meet face-to-face with the man who practically ghosted her.”
“I wasn’t ghosted.” I set my mug down on the counter a little harder than necessary.
“Right. He just left you with the divorce papers and never bothered to talk it through first. That’s totally ghosting, sweetheart,” he points out, grabbing a banana from the fruit basket and peeling it before devouring it in two bites.
“Mick, can we seriously not do this right now?” I snap, every nerve in me fraying at the edges.
He immediately gives me a guilty look. “Alright. I won’t say another word.”
I rub a hand over my face. “I’m sorry.”
