The headline catches myeye, but it’s not why I shuffle to a stop outside the news agency. I’ve seen the Adonis on the latest issue ofNow Weekly—and not just wearing the flame-red board shorts splashed on the cover, but also…without them. In fact, I’ve seen him as naked as the day he was born.
Luke.
I snatch the magazine off the rack and drop it at the register.
“For the clinic,” I lie to the woman tapping her fingernails on the counter while I fumble open my purse. “The patients like the crosswords…”
At work, when the morning rush slows to a trickle, I settle at reception with a cup of tea. After peeking above the desk to check no one’s looking, I slide the magazine out from undera patient chart. I take my time thumbing through the pages, pretending to read all the other stories before I let my greedy eyes feast on the shots of Luke.
“I guess the journalist dragged a photographer along with her…” I mutter to myself.
Luke looks good. On my TV. On paper. In bed. Out of it. Just…sogood. This man, this highly desirable bachelor, was the focus of my life for three months. He singled me out. It’s surreal.
I sip my tea in between each paragraph, absorbing every word. The article talks about how he catapulted to fame as a young chef in England, his move to Australia five years ago, and a teaser for his upcoming TV appearances. I know his backstory. I may not have shared my own, but he’s a fan of pillow talk.
What I don’t expect is any mention of his love life.
“There is a special someone,” our exclusive insider reveals. “Everyone who’s seen them together agrees he’s head over heels even if he’s not ready to admit it publicly yet.”
I blink.
Who is the special someone?
Kristen?
Not… Notme?
I glance up. The clinic is quiet. Only one patient waits, and her eyes are glued to the daytime soap on the TV. I turn the page with shaking fingers and almost choke on a mouthful of tea.
Spread across the top of page eight is a photo of my ex-husband. We were never famous like Luke or the other people in the magazine. I suppose Ethan might be famous now that he’s listed the tiny internet company he started in our apartment onthe stock exchange. In the photo, he’s wearing a tuxedo, and his arm is slung around the waist of a model.Sheis famous.
“Recently divorced, tech mogul Ethan Whitehall is wasting no time getting back into the dating scene with the latest in a long line of flings.”
Recently divorced.
Thatisme. A past participle phrase. A footnote.
My heart can’t shatter because Ethan destroyed any love I had for him. Divorces are ugly. I don’t miss him. But there’s a weight that slumps me over in my chair to realize how far we drifted off course from when we first met. He loved me…in the beginning. By the end, the quirks he once found charming became obstacles, things to “work on.”
And as much as I hate to admit it—even to myself—seeing on paper how easily I’m replaced in his life still hurts.
The streetlights flick onas I round the corner. I pause at the sight of the silver sedan parked out the front of the post office.
The man on the cover of the magazine.
Luke’s probably dropping in to collect his fan mail. Sure, the post office is closed, but when has that ever stopped a celebrity? There isn’t much else nearby unless he’s in the mood for a pizza from the greasy takeout place across the street.
Do I want a pizza? I can avoid any chance of running into Luke if I cross the street…or…head back into the main part of town. Yes. Town. Anywhere. Maybe there’s a bus heading to Hobart—
The car door opens. Luke gets out, but he leans back in to grab something off the passenger seat. A grocery bag. He straightens up and, smiling, he tilts his chin. He knows I was planning to run.
Suspicious, without a hello, I snap, “What’s all this?”
“A further attempt to apologize.”
“I think you’ve apologized enough.”
“You liked my flowers?”
