Page 49 of Mismatched Mates

It was the only thought going through my head, round and round until it felt as though my entire body was rattling apart from the force of it all.

Grant with another woman.

Kissinganother woman.

The day after he danced with me and we’d gone on that run through the woods with the kids. He’d intimated that there was going to be something more between us after our stupid contract ended.

Then again, if we were going by the rules, this thing between us was already over, and he was free to do what he liked.

So why did my heart feel like it was splitting in two?

I rolled off the side of the bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my swollen face. At the very least, the boys couldn’t know about this. In a few days I’d tell them that Grant and I were no longer together, and I’d never introduce them to another man for the rest of their lives.

Hell, I’d neverseeanother man. This was the wake-up call I needed. Don’t get involved with players and expect them to change their colors.

I’d known right from the start what Grant was. Heather had warned me—everyone had hinted that he was a ladies’ man, popular enough to always be inundated with attention, and used to accepting it. Why should he change the habit of a lifetime for me?

I'd built a business from the ground up and survived a cheating ex-husband. I could survive this too.

But as I moved towards the door, my gaze caught on the framed photo of Grant and me at Luke and Victoria's wedding. His gray eyes sparkled with mischief, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. I'd felt so safe, so cherished.

What a load of crap.

As I patted my skin dry with a fluffy towel, I forced myself to focus.

"Okay, game plan," I said aloud, my voice rough as sandpaper. "Work. The boys. That's all that matters now."

My gaze unwillingly landed on the beautiful dress Grant had gifted me, hanging elegantly on my wardrobe door. It wasn't about the cost—although it cost more than my mortgage, it was the thought, the kindness in his gesture. For once, I had allowed myself to lean on someone, to feel taken care of—but now the gleaming gown was a reminder of a world I didn’t belong in, and a hope I should never have entertained.

Pushing out a labored breath with a whoosh, I ticked off tasks on my fingers, building a mental fortress against my stupid broken heart. Spreadsheets and scented candles and self-care that involved calculations and complicated formulas. I talked to myself out-loud.

"Gotta call the chefs about next week's menu. Check in with the bakers on that wedding cake order. Review social media posts. Oh, and email that snooty bride about her color scheme disaster."

My phone buzzed with an incoming call from Grant, but after a second where I really considered answering and giving him a piece of my mind, I rejected the call. Then I navigated to Grant's contact, my thumb hovering over the "block" button.

"Sorry, Casanova," I muttered. "This show's over."

With a decisive tap, I banished him from my digital life.

A fresh start. Clean slate. So what if my chest felt as though I was feeding it through a cheese grater, and my stomach was rejecting anything other than water, and I felt a little as though I was slowly being poisoned from the inside out?

I should have known better.

Now all that was left was to pick up the pieces.

The next few days were a blur. If I wasn’t at the office, I was at home making food for the boys. If I wasn’t helping them with their homework, I was on the phone with potential customers organizing logistics, or speaking to venues about their catering facilities. If I wasn’t doing that, I spent the hours before bed making cute napkin cranes and swans. We’d need them for something. Probably.

I didn’t so much as take time to breathe; I couldn’t. I needed every moment of distraction.

It all caught up with me one afternoon. I jolted awake, disoriented, my cheek pressed against something sharp. Blinking groggily, I realized I'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table, surrounded by an army of half-folded napkin cranes.

There was a knock at the door.

I swung the door open. There stood Luke and Victoria, their faces etched with worry. And behind them, emerging from her car with the brisk efficiency of a military general, was my mother.

"Oh, joy," I mumbled,"the calvary's arrived."

Heather didn’t know about Grant’s supposed new girlfriend because she was far enough away and had blocked all notifications but it sure looked like Luke and Victoria did.

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