“You can’t say things like that. I might actually believe them.”
For a moment, the only sounds are the erratic rhythm of my heart pulsing in my head and our synchronized breaths.
After what feels like a lifetime, he speaks again. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”
Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the office door.
“That’ll be lunch,” Griffin says.
Micah trails in with a takeout bag from Rosie’s Diner and a drink carrier, setting them down on my desk.
“Thanks,” I say. “If anybody comes in, let them know I’ll be back in thirty.”
“You sure you don’t want to take the full hour?” Micah flicks his gaze to my husband. The suggestive undertone isn’t subtle by any means.
“I’m good. I’ll see you in thirty.”
Griffin casually moves the folder out of the way as if it doesn’t contain vital documents, and he slides a Styrofoamcontainer across my desk. Inside is a club sandwich and a side of crinkle-cut fries—my usual order. Will I ever not be surprised by this man and his attention to detail?
I pop a fry into my mouth and settle back in the chair. “Don’t you have riding lessons or something else you could be doing?”
“I always have time for my wife.”
I roll my eyes and take another bite.
My phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and groan at the name on the screen. I should block his number.
Tyler: I’ll be back in town tomorrow. We should talk.
This from the man who left me the world’s shittiest breakup note and went solo on our honeymoon trip. What’s there to talk about? We don’t have any kids together, so there are no custody arrangements to make.
As soon as I returned from Vegas, I divested myself from the joint bank account, and the rest of our assets remained separate. It’s not like I’d want to reconcile with a man who ditched me on our wedding day. He’d have to be out of his mind to think I’d go back to him after that.
Griffin swallows around a bite of his burger, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”
I shrug. “It’s Ty.”
“Of course it is.” He scoffs. “Took him long enough.”
“Too busy lounging on the beach,” I quip, picking up half of my sandwich.
“What does he want?”
“To talk, I guess.” I lick the sauce from my thumb.
Griffin tracks the movement. “Are you ready to listen?”
“It won’t change anything.”
He shoves the rest of his burger into his mouth and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Not even if he got down on his knees and said he made the biggest mistake of his life?”
“Not even then.”
Griffin nods, brow furrowed, and his mouth pulled into a subtle frown.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
