Page 173 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

When she fought the penthouse, I made room for her until she began filling it with pieces of herself.

Every obstacle had a solution.

Every outcome could be pushed.

Every road could be redirected.

Now Sophie is in the apartment she kept because Caleb, in one of his rare moments of wisdom, insisted she needed something that still belonged only to her.

And I have absolutely no idea what to do.

I could send flowers.

The thought is so absurd I almost laugh.

Flowers are pressure dressed in petals.

I could go to her office.

No.

Her apartment.

Fuck no.

I could call.

Ask her to dinner.

Arrange for us to encounter one another somewhere neutral.

I take another drink.

Even my attempts at restraint turn into strategy.

That realization is unpleasant enough that I empty the glass.

“Hawthorne.”

I don’t look around.

“Go away.”

Caleb takes the stool beside mine.

The bartender approaches.

“Coffee,” Caleb says.

“For you?”

“For both of us.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

“I know.”

The bartender wisely leaves before I can explain that I am capable of ordering my own fucking beverages.