Page 129 of Fixing to Be Mine

“Egg rolls,” he announces, holding one up like a trophy.

I grab it from his hand before he can finish the sentence. “Gimme.”

It’s hot, and I toss it between my fingers, blowing on it.

He laughs and sits beside me, opening a carton of lo mein. “You sure you don’t want a plate?”

“Thisisthe plate,” I say, holding out my hand, already grabbing a second egg roll.

I lean back on the cushion, watching him. It’s weird, how he fits here like this place is adjusting around him. Or maybe it’s me who can’t imagine him not in my life, wherever that is.

For a while, we eat without saying much. There’s music playing softly in the background—some chill acoustic playlist Colt must’ve cued up. Sunlight from the late morning sun glows against the surrounding glass windows in the distance and reflects gold.

“You know,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, “you should keep this place, and we’ll come visit when you miss the city.”

“You think I’ll miss it?”

He nods. “Eventually. With time, people tend to grow nostalgic. I know you’re still very pissed, which is understandable. But you won’t always be so hurt, and maybe one day, you can return here with a smile.”

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“Mama only raised emotionally intelligent men.” He pauses and smirks. “Never mind. Forgot about Emmett.”

We fall into a fit of laughter, and I reach for an eggroll, but he beats me to it. Colt dips it in soy sauce and offers it to me with a kind grin.

“You’re sexy when you feed me,” I mutter, taking a bite.

Colt wags his brows. “I’ve got something to feed you.”

“You are so bad,” I tell him with a laugh, noticing how free and happy I am.

We finish eating, and Colt cleans up our mess, then returns to me.

“You’re really good at this,” I tell him, scooting closer, inhaling him.

“At what?” he asks, wrapping his arm around me.

“Making me happy.”

Before he can say anything, there’s a knock at the door.

Three soft raps. Not urgent. Not hesitant. There.

I tilt my head at him. “Told you so.”

“Do you want me to get it?” he asks, shifting so he can stand.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s her. I know it is.”

I walk to the door. The hardwood is cold on my bare feet. I stop with my hand on the handle and open it.

As I predicted, it’s Skye. She’s standing there with perfect posture in a designer dress without a hair out of place. Herlipstick is the same shade she wore on my wedding day. I wonder if she suggested that color, so when Donovan kissed me after sayingI do, he would think of her.

For a second, we stare at each other. My pulse quickens, and then I notice the shift in her expression. It’s relief, hesitation, guilt, and anger twisted behind her perfectly smooth face.

She opens her mouth like she might speak, but I don’t let her control the conversation.

“I should slam the door in your face.”

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