Page 6 of Broken Vows

The word feels wrong—too light for the weight suddenly pressing on my chest. I spent thirty years with Maverick. Almost my entire adult life with one man. We’ve been separated a year, but that doesn’t mean I know how to be anyone else yet. It doesn’t mean I can imagine another man’s hands on me.

I stare down at my glass.

“I’m not ready for that,” I say.

The mischief drains out of Diane’s expression.

“Then let’s forget him,” she says. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

We go back to chatting. Or at least Diane does. I spend the next ten minutes trying very hard not to notice her noticing him.

“I thought we were forgetting him,” I say eventually.

“I was,” she says, still looking past my shoulder. “But it’s getting weird now.”

“What is?”

“He’s turned down two more. I think that makes four.”

I refuse to look. “Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”

“He is,” Diane says. “For you.”

“Then he’s picked the wrong woman to wait for.”

I reach for my bag. Mostly to give my hands something to do, I pull out my phone and check the camera feed. Fifi, who had been curled up fast asleep, is now shifting around in her bed, restless and confused.

Guilt tugs low in my stomach.

I finish the rest of my wine. “I’m sorry. Would you mind if we head home? Fifi’s awake.”

“Of course.”

We settle the bill. Diane heads outside to grab a cab while I duck into the restroom.

When I step back into the narrow hallway, he’s there—the man from the bar.

He straightens the instant he sees me. My steps falter. He’s about a foot taller than me and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He shifts sideways in the tight space, not quite blocking me, but close enough that I can’t slip past without brushing him.

“You leaving?” His voice is deep and rough.

“Yes,” I say, glancing pointedly at the space behind him. “That was the plan.”

His gaze moves over me, pausing for one insulting second at my chest before coming back to my face.

Of course. Either he has a thing for older women, or he’s one of those men who thinks women my age are easy and should be grateful for the attention.

I’m not.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re having a drink with me.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it.

His brows pull together.

“No,” I say.

He stares at me for a beat, like he doesn’t recognize the word.