“No worries, friend,” someone else said before she could answer.
Two crisp Canadian bills landed on the napkin. “I’ve got her drink money right here, and I’ll have a whiskey neat. Keep the change.”
That voice: Black Canadian excellence, only slightly tinged with a Jamaican accent, because he’d actually grown up here in Ontario, not just come for University.
Claudine turned. And blinked. Then blinked again.
Even after ten years, she recognized him. The med student she’d made the mistake of typing into her 25-year plan as Future Doctor Husband. Before he abruptly ended their two-year relationship with an email about how he’d decided to drop out of his program and wouldn’t be coming back to the University of Toronto. Or her. Ever.
Claudine’s heart stumbled, then dropped—straight into the ache she thought she’d buried years ago.
“Is it really you?” she asked, barely managing a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
Then she saw the ring on his left hand.
A thick soapstone band with some kind of tribal pattern etched into it.
“You’re married,” she said flatly.
A shadow crossed his face.
“More like... ‘joined in ceremony.’ And we’re currently going through a rough patch. But yes.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “In the eyes of her and her people, we’re married.”
“So then you’re planning on leaving her with nothing but a cowardly email, too?” The acid words slipped out before she could think about how she wanted to come across to the ex she hadn’t seen in nearly a decade.
“No, I took this trip to Ontario to clear my head. Not to repeat my worst mistake. I shouldn’t have left you like that, Deenie.”
To Claudine’s surprise, guilt replaced the tight, bitter look in his eyes. “And, I apologize for how I ended things with you. You deserved better.”
Claudine blinked. Then swayed. She hadn’t expected him to acknowledge her pain. In her experience, men didn’t apologize for their cruel actions. Especially men with medical degrees.
“So, I am assuming you never finished your schooling,” she guessed out loud.
The much less flirty bartender chose that moment to return with the whiskey, and the man Claudine had once thought she’d marry one day took it with a wry smile.
“Same old Deenie. You got me. I changed career paths after discovering I had a talent for—Hey, do you mind if I sit down and explain what happened? Maybe catch up on the last ten years, if you’re up for it.”
Claudine stared at him. Blinked. Then answered, “No, thank you.”
He blinked back. “What? You’re really saying no to me—your dream guy? The most handsome man you’ve ever met?”
“Read my lips,” she said, borrowing the popular American catchphrase. Triumph swelled in her chest as she repeated. “No, thank you. You are the devil, and I rebuke you. Now, bye, boy, bye.”
Her ex’s mouth fell open.
And Claudine jerked awake with a bitter taste coating her mouth, like a metallic after-sheen.
Regret.
Because it had only been a dream. A dream based on an actual unexpected reunion from twenty-three years ago. And wishful thinking.
Because in real life, she hadn’t said no. She’d invited him to sit down.
And he had ruined her entire life.
Why had she been having that dream so much lately? Claudine rubbed at her pounding head. It had been recurring almost nightly ever since she was forced to administer Sadie’s latest, and hopefully last, punishment.
Normally, it dissipated like a whisper as soon as she woke up. But this morning, it lingered. A cloud hanging over her head as she sat up in bed and pushed her feet into the pair of house shoes.
