Page 22 of Mismatched Mates

As the courier retreated, I eyed the envelope suspiciously. It looked official, which in my experience, was never a good sign. My stomach did a little flip as I tore it open, my fingers betraying me with a slight tremble.

"What the hell is this?" I muttered, scanning the document. My eyes widened as the words sank in, each line feeling like a punch to the gut.

Jason. Suing me. For half my business. And custody of our sons.

I blinked, certain I must be hallucinating. But no, the words remained stubbornly unchanged.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The sheer audacity of it all hit me like a freight train. Jason, who couldn't be bothered to show up for his own sons' birthday, now wanted custody? Jason, who'd abandoned us without a second thought, suddenly cared about the business I'd built from the ground up?

I leaned against the doorframe. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. Of course. Of course, this would happen now, just when things were starting to look up.

I glanced at the clock; just a few minutes until the boys got home from their after-school activities. Not long enough to have a proper meltdown, that's for sure.

Right on time, the back door flew open with a bang, and Brandon and Lance tumbled in, a whirlwind of energy and boyish enthusiasm.

"Mom! You won't believe what happened at school today!" Lance exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

I plastered on what I hoped was a convincing smile, opening my arms to pull them both close. "Oh yeah? What's got you two so worked up?"

As Lance launched into a story about playground antics, I caught Brandon's eye. My quieter son was studying me intently, his brow furrowed in concern. Sometimes I swore that kid could see right through me.

"Everything okay, Mom?" he asked softly, cutting through his brother's chatter.

I swallowed hard, tightening my embrace. "Of course, sweetheart. Everything's just fine." The lie tasted bitter on mytongue, but I forced myself to maintain the facade. They didn't need to know.

I tossed and turned all night, my mind a carousel of worst-case scenarios. By the time my alarm blared, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck – a truck filled with anxiety and legal papers.

Grant and I had agreed on a coffee date before the gala to help sell the ‘reality’ of our relationship.

The Apple Pie Diner was its usual bustling self when I trudged in the next morning. The familiar aroma of bacon and coffee that usually made my mouth water now just turned my stomach. I slid into a booth, grateful Grant wasn't there yet. I needed a moment to collect myself.

"Coffee, hon?" Marge, the ever-present waitress, appeared at my elbow.

"Please," I croaked. "And keep it coming."

As she poured, I caught sight of my reflection in the chrome napkin dispenser. Yikes. I looked about as good as I felt.

The bell over the door chimed, and in walked Grant, looking unfairly put-together for this early hour. His gray eyes scanned the diner before landing on me, and I swear the temperature in the room went up a few degrees.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, sliding into the seat across from me. "You look..."

"Like death warmed over?" I supplied helpfully.

He chuckled. "I was going to say 'in need of caffeine,' but sure, let's go with that."

I wrapped my hands around the steaming mug, savoring its warmth. "Sorry. Rough night."

Grant's brow furrowed. "Want to talk about it?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. How could I dump all of this on him? Our whole "relationship" was just for show, after all.

Before I could say anything, Marge reappeared. "You two lovebirds ready to order?"

And just like that, the moment was gone. I forced a smile, acutely aware of the curious glances from the other patrons. "Just toast for me, thanks."

As Marge bustled away, I caught Grant's eye. He was watching me intently, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

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