Going out with my parents.
Them running into Nora.
Ditching me, which in return forced me to speak to her.
Which then led to the night we shared.
I flush the toilet and wash my hands.
And what a fucking night. A night that . . . I glance up at the mirror . . . a night I never would have expected from Nora . . .
Nora, the girl I grew up knowing but never got to actually get to know on a personal level.
The girl who introduced me to my ex-wife.
The girl who is still best friends with Dealia.
Jesus Christ.
My hands fall to the counter, propping me up as my mind whirls.
What the hell have I done?
I was so caught up in the moment last night, so desperate to feel anything other than the boring, dull breaths, that I let myself forget Dealia. I let myself forget our history, our failed marriage, and what it would mean if I slept with her best friend. I inadvertently put myself in a situation I had no right putting myself in.
What the hell would my therapist say?
Self-sabotage?
Possibly.
Because look at the progress I’ve made since the divorce. And here I am, making a decision that has the potential to blow up in my face. Hell, who am I kidding? It 100 percent is going to blow up in my face. I can’t get away with sleeping with my ex-wife’s best friend unscathed. And who’s going to be hurt in the long run? Me?
Maybe.
But that’s not whom I’m concerned about. I’m worried about Nora.
I’ve made some mistakes in the past, some that have hurt me, some that hurt my marriage. And now that I’m finally on the right path, I refuse to make the same mistakes.
But haven’t I already done the damage?
I move toward the doorway of the bedroom and stare back at Nora, still very much asleep and very unaware of the war raging in my head. What was this to her last night? Did it mean anything? Was it just fun? Where is her head at? When she wakes up, will she have a massive tidal wave of regret?
From the corner of my eye, a flash of light catches my attention. The light peeking through the curtains shines off a silver frame propped up on her dresser. It takes me a few seconds to make out the picture, but when I do, my stomach drops.
It’s a picture of Dealia and Nora, posing at our wedding, their arms wrapped around each other, huge smiles on their faces.
It’s like a cold bucket of water, crashing over me in a wave of chilling reality.
It’s too late. I’ve already made a grave mistake.
A mistake so monumental that I have no idea how to handle the ramifications.
Panic sears through me, propels me toward my clothes.
Anger with myself makes me slip my shoes on and grab my wallet, phone, and keys.
Hatred for my inability to make the right decisions forces me out the door of Nora’s apartment without a goodbye or a note.
This is not the man I’ve been trying to become. I don’t sneak around like this. Granted, I’m no longer married to Dealia, but Nora is her best friend. I’ve created an impossibly messy situation, one that could ruin their entire friendship. This will hurt Nora—no doubt, this will hurt her. I should have never crossed that line.
Leaving is the right decision.
Not calling her is the correct thing to do.
Not returning her texts means cutting ties I should have severed at the beginning of our wonderful, terrible night.
At least that’s what I thought until over a year later, when I’m forced back into her bakery and find myself getting lost in those dark, mysteriously angry eyes all over again . . .
Fall more in love with these characters in THE REUNION, by Meghan Quinn
Chapter One
FORD
“Larkin, did you get the invitations sent out?” I call from my desk as I type out a quick email to our head of marketing. I was supposed to receive mock-ups for our rebranding by end of day. It’s end of day, and there are no mock-ups.
“I did.” Larkin sweeps into my office, tablet in hand and blue light–blocking glasses perched on her nose. “They were sent out at lunchtime. The calligraphist did an impeccable job on the addresses. And as an added touch, I took one of the pictures from your parents’ recent photo shoot and made it into a stamp.”
I smile. “Did you make sure to send them one?” Larkin nods with a knowing glint in her eye. “They’ll get a kick out of that.”
“I also got word from your housekeeper that your bags are all packed, your suits are freshly pressed, and the remaining food in your fridge has been taken care of so nothing goes bad while you’re gone for the next month.”
“Great. And have you heard from marketing about the mock-ups? I drafted an email to ask where they are but thought I would check with you first.”