Page 10 of Second Chance Husband

This place looked homey, with a few odds and ends I remembered from our shared home. As if he had tossed things in this place that didn’t have a certain space for it in the other parts of his home.

I needed to get up and get through this. Live through the embarrassment, and my own disappointment, and then get home.

And then I could get through the rest of my day, and my life, and be the complete disappointment that I was to everyone else. It was what I was getting good at.

I slid out of bed, grateful I didn’t fall flat on my face. After I took one wobbly step, I put my palms in front of me, rolled my shoulders back, and let out a breath.

“You are Paisley Fucking Renee. You can do this.”

I didn’t dare mention the Cassidy part of my name when I was in a home of a Cassidy. It was like summoning Beetlejuice or something.

At least that’s what I was telling myself.

I quickly went to the restroom, took care of business, and was grateful when I saw a toothbrush there, with a little sticky note with my name on it.

Ever the organized teacher, he had thought of everything.

And I hated the fact that I still missed the sight of his handwriting. What the hell had I drunk last night? Memories and regrets?

I was never doing that again. Even if I had to search for the Paisley I wanted to be for the rest of my life, the drunk dumbass one was not going to be it.

At least that righteous anger at myself could push away some of the disappointment and utter agony seeping through my system. Was it seeping? No, it was a tearing, an utter grating as it ripped through my organs, reminding me that they would scar me until the day I let out a breath that was the end of my nights.

I couldn’t find my clothes, but hopefully I would find them once I got out of this room. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail with the elastic on my wrist, washed my face, and I figured that was all the dignity I could muster.

It wasn’t like I could find anything else.

I rolled my shoulders back, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.

The scent of bacon sizzling filled my nose, and the sound of the news filtering through the air hit my system.

August was here. And this was his home.

Not our home.

I let out a breath, and walked with my chin held high to the kitchen of the man I thought I had been in love with.

August stood there, his back to the TV as he worked on breakfast over the stovetop. He had on an olive-green Henley, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and worn jeans that had seen better days. He had bare feet, and his hair pushed back from his face. It was a little longer than I was used to seeing him with, and it curled a bit at the nape of his neck.

With that rugged jaw of his and the slight beard he wore, he was a beautiful man. Rugged, but with a great smile that honestly reached his eyes.

I hadn’t seen that smile aimed at me in a long time.

He did smile though, he showed emotions when it came to his nieces. He was the sweetest man with his family. And I was grateful he had that.

Because I wasn’t sure I would have ever fit in that way with his family. After all, I had barely seen them during our short disastrous marriage. We had been young, in love, and apparently stupid.

“Your coffee’s on the counter. If you’re done staring at me.”

I blinked, and swallowed hard, wondering how long I had been standing there, and when he had noticed.

“I also set down some water, and another ibuprofen if you want it. Breakfast is almost done.”

Again he wouldn’t look at me.

Damn it. Why was I here?

But that coffee looked good and smelled even better. I took three steps toward it, and looked down at the mug, at the perfect coloring of that coffee. With just a dash of cream, and the sweet scent of chicory.

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