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“I miss a few of my friends.” I look over at him. “And the diversity of the food I could get there, but I don’t miss the city as much as I thought I would.”

“I get that. There was a Jamaican restaurant right next to my place in Florida. I think about that place every day.”

“I’ve never had Jamaican food.”

“You’re missing out.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” I murmur, then admit, “The day I drove back into town, I was seriously questioning if I was making a huge mistake, but I feel happy being back here. I mean I still feel like I’m on vacation and I’m going to go back soon, but I’m happy.”

“That’s good.”

“So why did you move here?” I ask, since he’s opened the door.

“Needed a change after my divorce.” He glances over at me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“You weren’t happy?”

“I thought I was and would have stayed with her forever, having no fucking clue that I was actually miserable.”

“That’s a strong word, miserable.”

“It’s also true. I spent a lot of time trying to give her the things she wanted and having no idea that I was shooting for the impossible. She was never going to be happy with the life I could provide her, and I was never going to be able to give her enough to make her happy with me.”

“That sucks.” I turn toward the window. “The guy I was engaged to wasn’t happy that he was only supposed to have sex with me for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh, and I giggle. “I’m glad you can joke about it, babe, but you gotta know that guy was an idiot.”

“Maybe, or maybe he’s just like every other man who gets tired of the same old thing all the time and wants something new.”

“Not all men are like that.”

“I guess you’re probably right. It’s just hard not to feel jaded after something like that.”

“He didn’t deserve you, Genevieve, and it’s good that you found out he was a piece of shit before you married him.”

“Yeah, or had a kid with him. Now that really would have sucked.”

“You’re right about that.” He makes a right onto Shauna’s property, and the big steel building where she does her printing comes into view. As we pull up, she and her dogs come outside to greet us, and Storm instantly gets to his feet and lets out a loud bark.

“Stay in here and let me come around to you,” Wyatt says then. Without giving me a chance to reply, he gets out and slams the door. I can see him say something to Shauna when he’s at the hood of the truck before he comes around to my door and opens it up. Storm hops over me to get out, and he immediately goes to greet Shauna’s two big dogs while I unhook my belt.

When Wyatt holds out his hand to me, I take it and look up at him, getting that same feeling I did the morning we had breakfast and he took my hand to help me out of the booth. Like I would have given anything in that moment for him to look at me like that right before he kissed me. Only I shouldn’t want him to kiss me, should I? Definitely not, because kissing him would be a really, really bad idea, right?

“Genevieve,” Shauna shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I swing my head her way. “Girl, wipe the drool off your chin and come on.” She looks at me, then Wyatt, and shakes her head before turning and disappearing into the building. With my face on fire, I head into the building behind her, with Wyatt following. “Here they are.” She slaps her hand on a tall stack of signs, then picks up the one on top and flips it around toward us.

“Oh my.” I bite my lip as I take it all in. The lettering, color, and design all look very professional and similar to the one I saw of Joe’s. But the photo is one of him dressed like he was the day at the courthouse. The black cargo pants he has on are fine, and the T-shirt he’s wearing is also not so bad, but the way that the material of both is clinging to his torso and thighs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, feels somehow inappropriate when you have that and the rest of him. His square jaw covered with a thick layer of stubble, his dark hair hanging over his brow, his thick biceps folded across his chest, with the tattoos on his arms peeking out from under the sleeves of his T-shirt. I know I joked about the Chippendales thing with him just yesterday, but the picture does look like an ad that the male strip club would have on a flyer or billboard. And I can tell you that it would work to bring in new clientele.

“This shit just keeps getting worse and worse,” Wyatt mutters under his breath, and I bite my lip harder. I want to laugh. I also want to apologize because my mom was obviously not thinking when she picked what photo to use.

“I . . . ummm.” I look away from the sign to meet Shauna’s gaze. “How long do you think it would take you to print new signs?”

“What?” She flips the sign around to look at it. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“I just think that we should go a different direction.” I walk toward her and remove the sign she’s holding from her hands. “I love—” I look back at Wyatt. “We love the layout and the font you used, but this photo is just not . . . well, I think it would look more official if we used a headshot, or something a little more professional.”