Page 111 of Just Trouble

I’m in tights and a T-shirt, dusty and dirty, my hair shoved into a messy bun and my feet bare. There is no make-up left on my face and my nails are due for a buff and polish. I’m not looking my best and I’m kind of glad that Justin didn’t give me any notice of his plans.

I open the door and he pauses in the act of climbing the steps. He’s wearing a navy suit and I can see that he’s shoved his tie in the pocket of his jacket. He was always doing that. He neverfolded it or treated it with care, which meant that someone had to restore it to rights. The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing that he’s as tanned as ever. His hair is still dark gold and a little curly, though there might be a smidgen of silver at his temples now. Tough to tell in this light. His eyes are still green—why would that have changed?—and they still crinkle at the corners when he smiles, as he does now. He’s still as confident as ever, and clearly can’t even imagine that I wouldn’t be thrilled to see him.

“Daphne,” he says, exhaling my name. I once thought it sounded like a caress, but now it sounds like he’s out of breath.

Maybe he’s spending less time at the gym these days.

“You must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque,” I say, leaning in the doorway and folding my arms across my chest. I don’t feel friendly and I’m not going to fake it. “Don’t tell me that what’s-her-name decided to move down here.”

“Heather,” he supplies.

“Hmm,” I say.

“That was a misunderstanding…”

“You’re right. I thought we were exclusive, seeing as we were engaged and all.” I wrinkle my nose. “Was I supposed to ask her to be a bridesmaid, or was she just going to coincidentally book a vacation at the same location as our honeymoon? Maybe we were going to decorate the spare bedroom for her. How exactly was that going to work?”

He steps onto the porch and shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking like a chastened little boy. “You’re still angry.”

“No. My anger has cooled and set into a hard slab of bitterness that will last a lifetime.” Even as I say it, I realize it’s not true.

I just don’t care.

I have anindifferencethat could last a lifetime, and that’s a very liberating realization.

Justin, I know, isn’t ever going to believe it. “Daphne, you’re making too much of a little fling.”

“No, I think you made too little of it,” I say. “But it doesn’t really matter anymore. Does it?”

“What do you mean? I thought we could start over…”

“There’s no way I want to do that again.”

“No, Daphne, this time it would be different…”

“I don’t think so.” I sigh when he steps closer to make an appeal. “Give me a little credit. I’m not that gullible, Justin.”

“But I love you,” he says and his confession has no power at all. They’re just words. Empty words. I can’t help but compare it Luke’s heartfelt confession.

He was telling me the truth.

“You had such an interesting way of showing your affection,” I say, smiling when I see a familiar silhouette striding closer. “But then, they do say that actions speak louder than words.”

The man I know whose actions are perfect in every way is closing fast and I’m glad.

Justin, of course, assumes that I’m smiling at him and that he’s making progress. He takes a step closer. “Come on, Daphne.” He gestures to the bench on my porch. “Let’s sit down and have a talk, straighten everything out.”

“How did you know where I live, Justin?” I use his name because Luke is within earshot. I see his footsteps slow and I know he’s waiting for a sign from me.

Choice. He’s all about giving women choices. That must be his mom’s legacy because it isn’t his dad’s. I admire Luke so much for that trait.

“I called your dad,” Justin confides with a wry chuckle. “He wasn’t very encouraging, but after I saw you on Rafe’s socials, I just knew we were destined to be together. I knew we had togive it another shot.” He smiles, a smile that used to dissolve my knees and my reservations. Both are good this time. No surprise. “You looked fabulous, Daphne.” Again, his gaze sweeps over me and I smile that he’s not so fond of the transformation.

God, my mom was right about him. He’d probably kick me to the curb at forty for looking older. Certainly, I’d be shown the door at fifty. This guy is not about forever, even though he talks a good game. How did I miss that bit?

Maybe I was only looking at the surface, too.

His affair saved me from a horrible fate.

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