Page 11 of Battle of the Exes

She nods, excitedly.

“Here you are.”

Jasper turns the book toward her. There’s a sloppy heart drawn next to her name. She glows like a disco ball and floats away, hugging the book to herchest.

“So, who is she? The flying acrobat.” he asks me once more.

“No one,” I say, noting Ivy appears to have recovered, at least externally. Her shirt, skirt, and hair are back to their proper positions. She’s helping Rue ring up the purchases. It’s impressive. Another woman would have hopped the first flight out of town never to show her face again.

“That’s definitelysomeone. Did you see those legs?”

How could I miss them? Ivy was splayed across the table, leaving little to the imagination.

Jasper is now staring. “She seems to know the owner.”

“They’re sisters.”

“Then, you do know her?”

“Only in the biblical sense.”

He swivels his head my way. “What?”

Rue comes over. “Sorry about that um, mishap.”

Jasper’s lascivious expression vanishes. “No problem at all. These things happen.”

I hold in my inner eye roll.

Ivy approaches the table. Instinctively, I grab hold of the banner and remaining books. She’s like an earthquake. I also brace myself for a snide remark.

But she completely ignores me.

She addresses Jasper. “I’m terribly sorry about what happened.”

This woman has some serious guts.

Jasper makes an ‘it was nothing’ gesture causing Ivy’s shoulders to relax.

“I love your writing,” she says in a cooing tone I recallfrom our time together. If she starts glowing like Sheryl, I’m outta here.

Jasper smiles humbly, as though he wasn’t just ogling her. “Thank you, Miss…”

He’s actually putting on a drawl. Brooklyn-born faker.

“Ivy Winslow.”

“Which of my books is your favorite?”

They chat about his books. She’s still ignoring me. I should have let her face-plant onto the parquet floor. A memory of the last time I held her in my arms pops into my head. Ivy tipsy, unable to walk a straight line.

On our honeymoon.

Jasper signs a book. Beneath his signature he doesn’t add a heart. Instead, he jots down his telephone number. Classy.

Ivy looks like she’s going to implode from over-fawning. All it does is make me nauseous.

I say, “Sorry, Ms. Winslow, you’re holding up the line. Next!” I call to the following customer.

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