Page 5 of Resisting the Fall

Maven

The headlights of my borrowed Mercedes reflected off the windows of Dust & Timber. The storefront was dark, but Ben’s old white Chevy truck was still in the parking lot, which meant he was likely in the workshop at the rear of the property.

At least I hadn’t had to search all of Autumn Ridge for him.

I turned off the car but hesitated, unable to get myself to open the door. It turned out six hours of driving wasn’t enough time to decide how best to explain to Ben that our divorce had never been finalized.

At the reminder of the upcoming conversation, I gripped the steering wheel and pressed my forehead against it, releasing a pent-up moan.

Since our divorce—or what I’d assumed had been our divorce—Ben and I had adhered to an unspoken agreement: I never made a surprise visit to Autumn Ridge, and he conveniently made himself scarce when I came to town. Only twice since he’d left New York had I even glimpsed him, and both times he’d been hightailing himself in the opposite direction.

A fitting image.

Which wasn’t really the point. The point was: how did one go from that to “Hey there, stranger. Sorry for the surprise visit, but do you want to hear something crazy? Turns out we’re about to celebrate our eight-year wedding anniversary.”

Clearly, that was not the chosen approach, but it also wasn’t the worst idea I’d come up with. I moaned again, this time bouncing my forehead on the steering wheel in my frustration.

“You okay in there?” The familiar, deep voice came in unison with a light tapping at my driver-side window.

With the velocity of my head turn, a twinge of pain shot down my neck.

When my eyes locked with Ben’s, the concern in his expression morphed into shock.

The inevitable conversation had come. If I was going to get my passport, I needed to get this over with.

I cracked open the door. “Hey.”

Realizing I meant to get out, Ben opened the door the rest of the way for me. “Maven? What are you doing here?”

I stood and faced him, refusing to acknowledge the way my heart was pounding at the mere sight of him. Or the way his familiar scent tempted me to pull in a deep inhale. Or the way his broad shoulders and strong arms made me want to curl into him and have a good cry after the day I’d had.

This was not a promising start.

My body had not been given an opportunity to learn how to interact with Ben in a post-Ben world, and it was clearly falling into outdated reactionary responses. It didn’t help that, even in the darkness, the subtle differences I noted in his features and stature gave him more of an advantage.

He walked out on me, I reminded myself. “We need to talk.”

His gaze flicked to his left, and I followed it to find Dominic, Ben’s good friend and therefore a former friend of mine, standing on the sidewalk, glancing between us with an uncertain look. He met my gaze, glanced back at Ben, then threw a thumb toward his parked truck. “I’m gonna head out.”

Ben’s attention had already returned to me, but he gave a nod. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“No worries if you can’t make it.” Dominic took a backward step, then lifted his hand to me. “It’s good to see you, Maven.”

“You too, Dom.”

Ben and I stood in the silence, waiting until Dominic’s truck pulled out of the parking lot and his taillights faded into the darkness.

“So…” Ben finally said, his gaze flicking to Cassandra’s black Mercedes behind me. “Let’s have it.”

I gave a humorless laugh. “That’s how this is going to go? Good to know.”

Ben blew out a breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll get on with it.” My tone was clipped. “I went to the courthouse this morning. I needed an official divorce decree, and…”

With the speed at which Ben’s gaze dropped to my left hand, my words trailed to a stop. I knew exactly what he was looking for. After my most recent failed relationship, the only people I’d told about Colin and me breaking up were my mom and brother, and I’d asked them not to share the news until after I’d left for Europe. That way, well-meaning gossips with their list of endless questions, their pity, and their potential blind-date recommendations wouldn’t ruin any visits home before my six-month absence.

And honestly, now that I thought about it, I didn’t need Ben to know about my breakup either. That wouldn’t make this any easier, so it was a darn good thing I already had both my hands shoved in my pockets—a cautionary move to prevent either from involuntarily reaching out to touch him until my body acclimated to his proximity.