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In the beginning, he had. She hadn’t had any complaints sexually for a long time. By the time she did, her concerns outside the bedroom were much more pressing than her increasingly frequent inability to get off with her husband.
She worried the long braid she’d pulled over one shoulder, her gaze on the line of cars creeping past the coffee shop. The turbulent twilight sky spit sleet and the tap-tap-tap of it on the tin roof rose above the piped-in jazz. Voices hummed around her, soft and comforting. Nice to hear people talking and laughing. Her house felt so quiet now with Lon gone. Probably why she kept the movie channel on night and day. Anything to fill the silence.
The silence in her head was harder. Mornings tested her. Sometimes even the memory of Lon’s cold body seemed better than the void of her empty bed.
Not that she cried. She couldn’t seem to dredge up any tears. She’d tried. Repeatedly. Surely it wasn’t right for a woman not to cry over her husband asking for a divorce.
Months had passed since that night and she still hadn’t. She almost wanted to, just to prove she wasn’t broken.
Karyn tugged on her braid, just about to check the time again when the door opened with a little jingle of bells. She glanced at the man that entered the shop, glanced away. Then she glanced back, shocked at the tickle of awareness along the back of her neck as she checked out his profile.
He looked like an ordinary guy. Average—the same matter-of-fact label she’d assigned herself years ago. Golden-brown hair, no stubble to speak of, firm jaw. Good lips, even with the little scowl that pulled them down. She couldn’t see his eye color. Maybe hazel, like hers.
Her gaze skipped along broad shoulders, landed on his gray football hoodie. Great. This guy—Jeff—with the p
encil stuck behind one ear sure didn’t look like a thug, thereby debunking most of her other theories. Which meant she’d just been ogling a friend of her soon-to-be-ex-husband.
Didn’t that just figure?
He turned his head and settled his gaze on her where she stood beside the little round table she couldn’t manage to actually sit at. Her stomach tightened in concert with her throat but she strode forward and stuck out a hand. “Jeff?” she asked, hoping she sounded polite rather than tense. “I’m Karyn.”
“You’re Lon’s wife,” he said, keeping his own hands in his pockets.
Finally realizing he had no intention of accepting her hand, she pulled back. “For the next little while, yes.”
“You’re divorcing.”
No man had ever used such a brusque tone with her before. She didn’t mind. At least she knew how he felt. He wasn’t playing games. For whatever reason, he didn’t like her and made no bones about it.
Karyn stiffened her shoulders. “If you’re his friend, shouldn’t you know that?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Yes. We’re divorcing. What is your last name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He didn’t reply but by then she’d found something else to occupy her attention. His eyes.
Though she’d expected them to be as serviceable as the rest of him, they were a smoky blue-gray fringed in dark lashes. Pretty eyes. Even when he stared her down like a cop might a perp. And not just any perp. One who was heavily armed and an imminent flight risk.
Her skin prickled under his intense scrutiny. Something about the way he looked at her—in her—made her warm all over, even places she’d assumed had frozen permanently.
“Maddox,” he said finally, lingering over the word as if he expected her to respond in a predetermined fashion. The name wasn’t familiar.
“Why do you have Lon’s phone?”
Again that long silence. She should have found it creepy. Odd silences, probing stares and strange meeting circumstances added up to bad news. Especially when they all originated from a guy who claimed to be her husband’s friend but seemed to know little about their personal situation.
“He left it behind.”
“Behind where?”
“Why are you divorcing?” he asked, shifting only a fraction when a couple entered the shop and attempted to sidestep him.
“Here, why don’t we sit down.” She returned to the table behind her, hoping he’d follow.
He did, but only after what seemed to be great deliberation. He pulled a chair out and dropped into it, spreading his long jean-clad legs wide without any thought to her personal space. A new scent drifted over her as he settled, one more intimate than coffee or peppermint or the wet smell of drying wool.
Him. Hot, male, potent. No aftershave or cologne, just skin and sweat. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her nose twitched.
