There is hurt in his eyes. “Of course he does. Maybe he finally realized what he let walk away.”
I toy with the handle of my coffee cup. “It's just—I can't help but worry about what he wants.”
Lincoln's thumb gently brushes over my knuckles—a small gesture, but it grounds me like an anchor. “Whatever his reasons for coming back, they don't change how far you've come. You're not that same person anymore.”
He has so much faith in me. Part of me thought he would be upset with me for agreeing to meet with Michael, and if he is, I can’t tell.
“Listen, Heather,” Lincoln says, the humor in his voice giving way to earnest sincerity. “No matter what happens when Michael walks through that door, I'm here. As a friend or more.”
“Thank you, Lincoln. Really.” I squeeze his hand.
The chime of my phone cuts through.
“Hello?”
“I’m here in Lawson Ridge. Came in a bit earlier than expected,” he says.
“Here? Now?” The words tumble out, and my pulse quickens at the thought of him invading my sanctuary without warning. Especially with Lincoln sitting across from me right now.
“Surprise. I thought maybe we could meet up? Talk things over?”
“There's a coffee shop on Main Street, Page Turners. We can meet there.”
“Perfect. See you in ten minutes?”
Ten minutes to steel myself for the storm.
Lincoln gets up from the table and scoots the chair back in. “If you want to get together after, just shoot me a text. Or if you just want to scream at the top of your lungs, we can do that too.”
When he walks away, my heart drops. Lincoln has always been the man I wanted, but somehow things got twisted. He had big dreams and no time for commitment. And now, here he is, wanting to start something and I’m agreeing to meet my ex-husband. What the hell is wrong with me?
Every time the bell above the door sings I hold my breath. Not ready to face him. No matter what, we are not getting back together. He treated me like shit and I deserve far better.
When it sings this time, it’s him.
“Michael.” I stand, as I take in his flawless suit and the air of confidence he wears like a second skin.
“Heather,” he smiles, reaching out to touch my arm in a familiar gesture I am not ready to welcome. “You look great.”
“Thanks. You look... the same.”
“Hopefully, that's a good thing,” he chuckles, sliding into the chair opposite me. “So, how have you been, Heather? Lawson Ridge treating you well?”
“It's been good to be home. It's peaceful here. Simple.”
“Simple can be nice,” Michael concedes, though I catch the flicker of something else in his gaze—disdain, perhaps, or impatience. “But surely you miss the excitement of the city? The buzz of being in the thick of it all?”
“Excitement isn't everything.” The memories of our life together—a whirlwind of galas and business dinners—flashing before my eyes. “Sometimes, you need to step back and appreciate the quiet moments.”
“Of course. That's always been your way, hasn't it? Finding contentment in the stillness.”
This is no longer a conversation between a former husband and wife but a dance around the ghosts of our past.
“I saw Lincoln on the way. He said he was just in here talking to you. What a small world. Both of you back at the same time. I've heard he does well for himself. An anesthesiologist, isn't it?”
“Yes, at a children's hospital. He's very dedicated.”
“Commendable. Though I suppose that means he's quite busy. Possibly too busy to offer you the... attention you deserve.”
