Page 104 of Clinically Delicious
“Yes,” I said finally. “I like Cate.”
Megan smiled, her eyes drifting closed. “Good. I think she likes you too.”
If only you knew, baby.
I stayed there for a few more minutes, watching her breathing even out, making sure she was fully asleep before I moved.
The knock came just as I was closing her door.
Three sharp raps on the front door—confident, demanding.
I frowned, checking my watch. 8:47 PM. Late for a neighbor. Wrong time for a delivery. Probably someone selling something. Or a lost driver needing directions.
I’d deal with it quickly and get back to Cate.
Cate.
She was downstairs right now, probably finishing the dishes, maybe making herself tea the way she did every night. Maybe thinking about tonight. About coming to my room.
About us.
This past week had been... intense. Stolen moments and midnight texts and the kind of sex that made it hard to think about anything else.
But we hadn’t talked. Not really. Not about what this was. What it meant. Tonight, I was going to fix that.
Tonight, I was going to tell her that this wasn’t just convenient. That she wasn’t just—Another knock.
Louder this time.
Persistent.
I headed downstairs, already planning how to politely but firmly dismiss whoever was at my door.
I could hear Cate in the kitchen—the soft clink of dishes, the running water. She was humming something under her breath. Off-key but endearing.
Everything about her was endearing.
Focus, Gabriel.
I reached the front door and pulled it open, already forming the words to send whoever it was away, but the words died in my throat. Because standing on my doorstep, dressed in a designer coat that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent, was my ex-wife.
Tonya.
She looked exactly the same. Perfectly styled blonde hair. Flawless makeup. The kind of polished, expensive beauty thathad first attracted me years ago and had meant absolutely nothing by the end.
“Gabriel,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
My mind was racing, trying to process what the hell she was doing here.
Tonya had never been here. How did she know where I lived? Hadn’t seen Megan since she was two years old. Hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t sent so much as a birthday card.
She’d left when Megan was a baby. Walked out with barely a backward glance, citing that motherhood “wasn’t what she’d expected” and that she “needed to find herself.” After a lengthy court case, I got full custody, and Tonya vanished. Last I’d heard, she’d found herself in Manhattan with a hedge fund manager.
“It’s late,” I said finally, my voice flat. “Megan’s asleep.”
“I’m not here to see Megan.” She stepped forward, and I had no choice but to step back or physically block her.
