Page 23 of Dr. Bad Boy

“You were shopping?” It’s in question form because that’s the polite thing to do, but his voice is tight and clipped.

I nod.

“I haven’t seen you here before.” He pointed in the general direction of the arena. “We’ve been playing here every Saturday for a couple weeks now.”

“Hockey?” Of course hockey. It’s an arena, in October. And he’s got a big-ass bag over his shoulder.

And because Max is scary smart, he picks up on my nerves. I can see the moment he realizes I don’t feel in control of this situation. I expect him to press, to push into that pain and make me squirm, but he doesn’t.

That leaves me more unsteady than if he had.

“Yeah. Hockey.” He clears his throat. “I like this market, too.”

“I usually come first thing,” I offer unnecessarily. “Better selection.”

He nods. “I was just going to grab some muffins.”

The apple walnut are all gone. Again, I keep myself from voicing that thought, even though it takes a fair amount of effort. It’s the strangest impulse, this desire to tell him everything.

“Are you leaving?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

He lifts an eyebrow, and heat pools in my belly. “You aren’t sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m done.” I lift my bag. “I’ve already got my muffins.”

“I’ll walk you to your car, then.”

“No.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Thank you. But you need to still go shopping and I’m done, so I’ll just go…” I try to point toward my car, but in fact it is back through the market, and this is fucking ridiculous. “You know what? Come on. I’ll walk that way with you.”

He laughs at me under his breath, but falls into step as I turn around and head through the market for what feels like the hundredth time.

It's weird doing this with someone else. I started a weekly trip to the market in Toronto, as my marriage fell apart. Part of a search for a new sense of who I am. I found pieces of myself in this new routine, and I continued it when I moved to Ottawa.

As if he can read my mind, Max looks sideways at me. "You're here alone?"

"Always."

He lifts his eyebrows at that.

"My ex hated the market," I offer, then curse myself for the unnecessary share.

"Ex?"

In for a penny… "Ex-husband." I stare straight ahead. "I got divorced in July."

He stops and looks at me. I'm tempted to keep walking. Leave that fact for him to chew on, but I can't do it. I stop, too, and slowly turn to look at him.

"How long were you married?" he asks quietly, his jaw tight under his beard, his eyes hard.

"Two-and-a-half years." It almost hurts to hold Max's gaze, but I don't look away. New Violet isn't ashamed of anything.

"I'm sorry."

I nod. "Thanks. I'm not. It's best that it's over."

"He's not here?"

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