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“Lying to myself about what’s in my heart isn’t going to make me happy.”

I have to give Noah credit. He’s bravely confronted the hard reality I’ve shied away from. “Have you told her how you feel?”

He shakes his head. “If some guy told you he wanted to waltz you down the aisle and was hoping for a quick trip to the maternity ward, would you run screaming in the other direction?”

“Absolutely.”

“There you go.”

I sigh. Damn, he’s smart. A master strategist in all areas of life. Noah is also good-looking, fun, rich, and from what I hear, great in bed. He’ll catch this woman eventually.

I’ll still be alone.

“If you remarried, hypothetically, would you have more babies?” he asks into my maudlin silence.

Good question. Even though the thought of Noah having babies with his unnamed divorcée makes me want to crawl into a gallon of Häagen-Dazs and never come out, I care about him. I want him to be happy. “Probably. I love kids, and if this hypothetical marriage took place soon, my little ones are still fairly young, so all the kids would likely play together. Does this woman already have kids?”

Noah never answers. Our food arrives, and he sets into his with a waiting fork and a vengeance.

“Good stuff,” he says after the first mouthful.

I take a bite and wish I could agree. I can’t think about anything except some nameless, faceless centerfold-type hanging on Noah, wearing a huge diamond on her left hand, with two perfect kids trailing behind, not a hair out of place.

Utterly depressing. I really have to snap out of it and be happy that Noah has finally found someone he wants to spend his life with. It’s probably better that I have no idea who this paragon of femininity is. I can hate the woman without feeling an ounce of guilt.

We finish the meal in relative silence. After Noah pays the bill and refuses to let me buy my own lunch, we stand. He anchors his hand in the small of my back again as we cross the restaurant, to the parking lot.

“Thanks for the talk at lunch. You really helped me to understand.”

I nod and try to smile. Confessing my misery over the fact Noah is plotting to marry another woman isn’t an option. “Glad to help.”

It’s a miracle I don’t choke over that lie.

“You confirmed all my suspicions.”

“Suspicions?”

“Clearly, I need to convince this woman that I’m for real.” He glances down at me with a mischievous smile. “And I’ve already got ideas.”

I wish his centerfold divorcée luck. Personally, I don’t think the woman has a prayer in hell of resisting.

Back at the office, Noah and I arrive just in time to see a deliveryman set a huge bouquet of multicolored roses on my desk. Red, white, pink, yellow. What the…?

Noah stands propped against the wall, arms crossed over that wide chest of his, watching with a quirked brow. “Wow, you must have rocked Mr. Mysterious’s world.”

I shake my head. “There has to be some mistake.”

Surely Mr. Mysterious didn’t send these. Why not? a voice in my head asks. He’d delivered his other notes here.

“I don’t think there’s any mistake, sugar. Read the card.”

With trembling fingers, I pluck the little sealed envelope from its plastic fork. Damn, having the man I lust after—and whose heart is apparently now taken—watches as I read a message from the man who’d screwed me into the mattress and rocked my world is deeply uncomfortable.

I extract the card and read, my eyes widening with every word.

* * *

I loved making love to you. There’s a bloom here for every time I’m going to do it again this week…