Page 53 of Ella Gets the D
Charles reached out last week to wish me luck with my new job. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had devil-worshippers chanting for my demise, but I took it at face value. Nothing with that man goes below the surface.
This is the first weekend he’s taking the kids, and he wanted to have dinner to discuss logistics. Never mind the fact that our phones work. We settled on a place outside Falls Church, away from whisperers who would spread our business faster than TMZ.
“You should go on a date.” Her brow lifts to hold me in a stare.
I scoff. “Did you forget I’m going through a divorce? I’m not looking for another disaster so soon.”
She smacks her knees and stands. “You’re right, it’s still early. But don’t assume life ends after divorce.” Her phone pings, and her lips spread into a smile before she tucks her cell into her back pocket. “Louise is waiting for me outside.”
Rose and her partner are the cutest. I’ve never seen someone dote on a person the way Louise does for the woman she loves.Anyone who has a fraction of the adoration these two share is lucky.
“I love your love. Please tell her I said hello.”
“Will do.” She pauses in the doorway. “You know, our stories aren’t so different. One day I’ll tell you about my ex and how Louise brought me back to life.”
Tears prick my eyes. “There is life after divorce.”
She grins. “Hell yes, there is. Have a great night, and order the most expensive item on the menu. You kicked ass this week, and I’m so grateful you’re here. Fuck him!” She pauses. “But don’tfuckhim.”
I shut off my laptop and pull my purse out the drawer.Don’t look. Two weeks passed since Julian left, and not a day went by that I didn’t think about him and the way we ended things. I hurt him, pinning an accusation on him that’s none of my business. A note scribbled in neat cursive was on the kitchen counter when I woke up the next morning.
Headed to London. Enjoy your new job. You got this.
Julian
He went back because of me, but he still wished me luck with my job. The departure and kind words keep my stomach in a twist. Julian planned to come home, but I had him practically sprinting to the airport with his carry-on and swan-diving onto the security conveyor belt to get away.
My thumb hovers over the message I’ve wanted to send.I’m sorry. I miss our random texts about food, series we have no time to watch, and whatever random thought enters our minds. Even my kids ask when the man they call Julie with such casual familiarity is coming back.
The connection we’ve developed in a week is unnerving. I shouldn’t get so attached to someone so fast—especially someone who will be around my kids—and I tell myself Julian staying in London is for the best. It’s a lie.
I ignore another thought about Morgan’s brother and head to the mirror to apply war paint in the form of red lipstick.Bloodred.
Katharine picked up Haile after she got Jackson from school. They’ll stay at her house until Charles gets them after our dinner. Bliss spread from crinkled eyelids to the wide smile that pulled at her mouth when I asked if the kids could come to her house. The criteria for sainthood models Katharine’s kindness and unconditional love. Her son is a different story.
“Would you like another, miss?”
“Yes, please.”
If I had the power to move objects with my mind, I’d fling Charles’s ass into the Potomac from the Jag—which better be on the side of the road with a blow-out. There’s no way in the hell that will become his eternal resting place he has me waiting for—checks watch—twenty-eight minutes. No courtesy call or text.
Nothing.
I take a long sip of my dark and stormy, the perfect drink to match tonight’s forecast. Cloudy with a strong chance of ass-whooping. He has two minutes to walk through the door before I bill him and his attorney for wasting my time. Of all the things to do on a Friday night with no kids, waiting around for my ex in a Bethesda restaurant forty-five minutes from my house isn’t anywhere on the list.
It’s a quaint spot with floor-to-ceiling steel-framed windows and reclaimed wood flooring. A mix of circular marble and rectangular wooden tables surround the bar with emerald barstools that match the dining room seating. The restaurant is pretty, but no amount of decor will save Charles from my wrath.
“He’s an idiot.”
I turn toward the smooth voice and narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
Patrick Dempsey’s twin widens his grin, setting off a dimple, and takes me in. He tilts his head. “I said”—his gaze drops to my mouth—“he’s an idiot.” His brow lifts when I don’t respond.
I need to get laid. Not by McDimples here, but…forget it.
Don’t think about him.
“Heisan idiot.” I stir my drink to avoid eye contact with the ice-blue eyes scanning the side of my face. “But I guess I’m one too since I married him.” I take another sip.
