Page 8 of Forgotten Romance

“It’s sort of strange to have a team reporting to me.”

“Really? But haven’t you done a lot of that anyway?”

“Yes and no. Before, I was part of the team. Part of coming up with the ideas and things … now, people bring the promotion packages to me to go over.”

Dammit, it sounds exactly like the type of thing Davey would love. This is going to be harder than I thought. Doesn’t matter. I just have to try even harder.

“Sounds stressful to me.”

“Well, yeah.” He turns his head to give me a soft smile, and this close, his dark freckles are more prominent in the glow of the TV. I’ve kissed those freckles too many times to count, and I dream about doing it again. “We’re very different people.”

“Not that different.” The response is immediate and doesn’t make sense, considering we always used to joke about being each other’s missing piece. Davey loves traveling, he’s organized, sensible, calms down with LEGO, and loves a good challenge. I love nothing more than settling at home, either reading or playing video games, and being goofy with my friends and family.

I don’t want serious. I don’t want a jet-setting life.

I want the kids and Davey and my job at the library. That’s it.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, turning to prop his elbow on the back of the couch. “What’s the same about us?”

“We, uh … like stir-fry.”

Davey’s eyes twinkle. “What else? Not food related.”

My heartbeat quickens at being the sole focus of his attention. How many other men have sat across from him like this over the last two years and got to witness being in the best place on earth?

Still, it’s a sad couple of minutes when the only other things I can think of are the kids and sex.

Stir-fry, our kids, and sex.

The three things we have in common, and they’re shaky at best. We have to love our kids, and food and sex aren’t exactly strong building blocks of a relationship. Maybe our problem was never his work at all. Maybe it’s that we’re too different.

I’m scrambling to come up with goddamn anything, and that teasing light is fading from Davey’s face.

Am I an idiot? Just an idealistic moron thinking I can single-handedly fix this all because we have more time together?

The problem is that I can’t not believe that because if I do, it means admitting this thing between us is over. It can’t be. I refuse to let us grow apart until we don’t even have this anymore.

Davey’s the only man for me, and I really hope he’ll remember I’m the only man for him.

I just have to make him remember.

Three months, and I’ll shower him with all the love in the world. Starting tomorrow, there’s no more ex-husbands, only us. If I want to hug him, I will. If I want to do something nice for him, I will. Davey is going to be smothered in affection unless he tells me to stop because this divorce was never supposed to happen. He was supposed to fight for me.

So now, I’m going to do what I should have done back then. Even if I fail.

“We’re both stubborn mules,” I finally say. Whether it’s his LEGO or my games or the way we’re raising the kids. Everything down to the divorce I want to forget about.

Neither of us wants to lose.

If I can get him fighting for us too, nothing will stop us.

3

Davey

I’m awake before the rest of the house, thanks to the last two weeks of getting up early to get in to the office. It’s a weird feeling, lying in bed when my natural instinct is to jump up, make a big pot of coffee, and start making my way through my full inbox. I’m so used to every free moment being spent on the move, brain occupied with problem-solving and new ideas.

Being still, not having to fill every minute with work that feels like it’s never finished … I never learned how to do that.

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