Page 20 of Battle of the Exes

I’ve forgotten how meditative, how energizing this place is. Silver Pine is special.

I hear the patio door open. Rue trudges in, her bunny slippers scraping the floorboards. She drops into the chair beside me. “You’re up early.”

“I love this time of day.”

We sit in companionable silence for a moment before Rue says, “I can’t wait to get Beau’s festival off the ground.”

Her tone tells me she’s jazzed, maybe even hopeful.

I remind myself to go along with whatever happens with this so-called festival, no matter what sort of turn-out it gets. Let Rue enjoy her moment in the sun.

I tell my sister I’ll be in touch later, grab a banana for the road and head out.

I pull up to Jasper’s hotel and text him that I’m outside. I’m not excited about the morning activity but when he got all worked up about the Quill being in financial trouble, I saw the look on Rue’s face. She was scared he’d bolt, tell the world we were going under. In the moment, it seemed the only way to get him on board. Now I’m stuck with a handsy writer who sports a colossal ego.

It’s a shame, really. I went from starry-eyed fangirl to deeply uncomfortable in record time. Turns out, Beau’s a master at keeping Jasper’s public image squeaky clean.

A text comes in from Jasper.

Want to see my room before we head out?

Gross.

No thank you. Tour starting now.

Of hidden corners?

I swallow a gag.

The earlier calm is now overshadowed by one thought. What have I gotten myself into?

Two hours later, I drop Jasper off at his hotel and head to Mae’s, feeling jittery, like I need a shower.

The scent of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread wraps around me like a hug as I step inside. I’m here for coffee and calm, not for small-town gossip, but luck’s not on my side today.

Sitting at the counter, chatting with Mae Thornton herself, is none other than Beau, flashing that grin like I’ve walked into a trap. It’s tempting to turn on my heel and bolt but why should I be deprived of a slice of apple cobbler simply because my ex is sitting on the very chair I always preferred?

Mae, who has survived three husbands and once chased off a bear with a rolling pin, is giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, Ivy, honey, you remember Beau, don’t you?” Mae says, eyes twinkling. From what Rue’s told me she’s battling intermittent memory issues. “Always was the sweetest boy.”

Like I said, memory issues. Of all the adjectives one might use for Beau, sweet is not top of mind.

I give her a tight smile. “Vaguely.”

Beau smirks over his coffee cup. “We have some history, yes.”

I ignore him. “Mae, could I get a coffee?—”

“Oh, Beau already ordered for you, dear,” she interrupts.

I whip around to glare at him. “That’s presumptuous.”

He shrugs.

Mae pats his arm. “He saw you coming this way and put in the order. Such a gentleman.”

Beau tries to look modest and fails spectacularly. “Well, Mae, I try my best.”

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