Page 26 of Just My Ex

He was totally right.

It didn’t take long for me to start to find my footing again. Just a half hour away each day made a world of difference. Besides, it made me a better mom.

“Hold on,” he says, typing something on his phone before pressing it to his ear and walking away. He places his hand on his waist, causing his black, sports T-shirt to stretch across his chest. He’s got the whole, “I’m a red-blooded male” thing really going for him, doesn’t he?

As for me, I’ve never really loved how I looked. I mean, I’m fine. Not “fine” as infine.But “fine” as in suitable. Average. And I have enough self-confidence, thanks to how my parents raised me, to love myself pretty darn well.

But my hair is unremarkable. I have curves, but I’m not curvalicious, and I’m not skinny. I’m average.

Which is why when I met Henry in college, we were friends before we fell in love. Because I was myself around him, from day one. He was so far out of my league, so smolderingly handsome, built, ripped—whatever other words can come to mind, did, and then some. And those cobalt eyes, taking in everything around him like he had to memorize it.

I seriously wondered if the Universe was playing a fun game on me: let’s have her become friends with an impossibly handsome Adonnis for funsies. She deserves it! Looking at him for a semester is enough to last her a lifetime!

I didn’t feel any pressure to be charming or coquettish … do people even use that word anymore? Because the idea of him and me together? Laughable. Henry was going to end up with a femme fatale, bombshell type—heart-stoppingly gorgeous and equally as fine a physical specimen. And that was okay with me. I didn’t need to end up with the guy or develop feelings for him. I was perfectly content to get to know him from a suitable distance. I had nothing to worry about.

And I wouldn’t, couldn’t flirt because, come on. I mean, it will never happen.

So when he and I had the second, follow-up course, Henry started training those cobalt eyes on me in the second semester chemistry class we were in.

Chemistry—ha!

I didn’t believe it at first. There were a solid two weeks where I pretended it wasn’t happening. The casual resting of his hand on my knee in our study group on the top floor of the library. Catching him looking at me instead of the professor when we were in the lecture. Leaning in for a hug where before we simply gave a casual “bye.”

There were many an opportunistic hug from him and I didn’t know what to do with it.

Because he came on strong. He told me I was beautiful. And the way he said it, I believed that he believed it. It was shocking and surreal. And I didn’t always believe it myself. But I felt he was being truthful—that he knew in his bones that I was beautiful.

He pursued me. And after weeks of laughing it off, I let myself open up to the idea, just a little bit.

And then I was a goner. As soon as I gave myself permission to love Henry Tate, Iloved Henry Tate. Hard.

And I loved him up until last year, when it became clear that he was choosing work over us, over his wife and daughter. He was choosing to stay stuck in his PTSD instead of trying to heal together as a family.

And I chose to stay strong in my own boundaries and decided enough was enough.

In a couple of minutes, he turns back around, pocketing his phone. “Stella can watch Navie.”

“No, I don’t want to inconvenience her—”

“You’re kidding, right? You remember Stella. She’d be mad if we didn’t ask her to babysit. Besides, in a general sense, this was already figured out. She mentioned yesterday she’d love to help.”

Stella sometimes felt more like a mother-in-law, in a good way, than Henry’s mom, Celine, did. Stella’s warm, effervescent, and irreverently funny. And she wrote me a kind and supportive letter after the divorce.

“But it will be strange to have Navie over at Stella’s while we’re here on the beach. I don’t think I could enjoy my run if I’m so far from Navie right now.”

“No need, Quinn. She’s coming here.”

I start to protest, but then I stop myself. Okie dokie. If Henry insists on being all up in my business about this bodyguard thing and on hiring his aunt to watch Navie, then I’m okay with it.

When Stella gets here, she gives me an all-encompassing hug. Henry gives her the lowdown in so thorough a manner that my own head is spinning. “Don’t answer the door. Screen your phone calls.”

But Stella just nods her head, placing her palm on Henry’s cheek. She’s so calm about all of this.

We leave Navie and Stella in the suite and go downstairs and out onto the large patio out back. Finally, we sink our shoes into the sand and start out at a steady pace, our footfalls in unison.

Let me explain something. Longdale Lake isn’t like lakes in California, all lush and green and thickly wooded. Longdale Lake is surrounded by beach and, in some parts, especially the sections away from human civilization, wild grasses, brush and thickets, and a few sporadic, wild, crooked trees.

It’s different than what I’m used to, but a beach is a beach is a beach where running is concerned.

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