Page 25 of Good as Gold
Once upon a time there was a happy thirty-five-year-old woman who spent all her Saturday mornings just like this.
I clear my throat. “Once upon a time, there was a king with twelve daughters…”
It’s hard to say which of those is the more outlandish fairy tale.
* * *
I leave Zara’s house around nine thirty, looking a little disheveled in yesterday’s clothes. And I’m pretty sure last night’s makeup is still caked under my eyes.
I really want a second cup of coffee and a freshly baked treat from the Busy Bean. Living twenty paces from my favorite coffee shop is one perk of getting divorced. After I drive down the hill and park my car, I march into the Bean in spite of my flattened hair and odd fashion choices.
And the first person I see is my ex.
Fuck.
Rory is standing at the counter, waiting for his coffee. He’s in his usual getup—jeans of questionable cleanliness and an old concert T-shirt.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should just turn around and leave. But why should I let him chase me out of this place?
And anyway, it’s too late now. He’s turned to see me, and he’s already studying me. “What’s up with the outfit?”
Oh shit. I brace myself, because he’s going to misinterpret the reason I look this way. “Nice greeting,” I murmur, checking out the bakery display case, hoping he lets it go.
“No, really. Are those last night’s clothes?”
Anger flares behind my breastbone. “You don’t have any right to ask me that.” It’s true, but he won’t like hearing it, and fear sparks along with my anger.
With a jerky motion, he grabs his coffee cup off the counter. “You little slut,” he hisses under his breath. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”
Oh no. “I wasbabysitting,” I hiss. “Overnight. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”
He stomps out without another word, but I’m still mortified.
I shouldn’t have explained myself. That’s stooping to his level. But several people are staring now, and I lost my cool.
Audrey—Zara’s business partner—clears her throat behind the counter. “You look like you could use a pretzel.”
I take a deep breath and try not to cry. “You’re right. I could.”
CHAPTER10
MATTEO
I’m on a mountaintop under a bright blue sky. The snow crunches under my feet.
Sean has a shovel in his hand. He plunges it into the snowpack, then lifts the snow to check its density.
It’s a standard test for avalanche risk. I squint to see the sample, but he chucks it before I can get a look. “Did you hear about the divorce?” he asks.
“Yeah. I heard about it.”
“Interesting timing.” He scoops another sample onto the shovel and holds it up.
“Can I see…”
He throws it down. And then the shovel, too. “Are you gonna tell her how you feel?”
“Why would I? Too late now.”
