Holy crap.

Holy.

Crap.

Reed Madigan is standing there. Right there on the carpet in front of my desk. I’m so startled that my hot chocolate mug slips out of my hands. It hits the slate coaster on my desk hard, and at a bad angle. And then my favorite mug—my lucky mug—makes an unholy cracking noise, before splitting into two pieces right in front of me.

Oh my God. Now I don’t even know where to look—at the ooze of chocolate spreading toward my keyboard? Or up into the startled eyes of the only man I’ve ever loved.

“Ava?” Reed says slowly. Like he can’t believe his eyes, either. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. So I’m just stuck here, staring at him with a flattened heart and a spinning mind. Although I’m not too startled to notice that Reed looks good. That dark wavy hair is just as thick as ever. And I’d forgotten how the dark scruff on his face accentuates the chiseled line of his jaw.

But a few details are new and unexpected—like the hipster glasses, which only accentuate his big, dark eyes. His navy suit and crisp, white shirt with a deep green tie are a far cry from the flannel shirts he wore when he was a college boy. The effect is much more stern, and also expensive.

Jesus Christ, that is just not fair. He looks hotter at thirty-two than he did at twenty-two.

That’s how old he was the last time I saw him—when he dumped me just before my February graduation from Middlebury College in Vermont.

“Ava,” he clips. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

The unfriendly tone makes me die a little inside. But it also snaps me out of my haze. Ten years—that’s how long it’s been. My anger for him is like hot coals—toasty and dormant, but ready to flame up again. “I’m working,” I say sharply. “This is my desk.”

I try to bring the two halves of my mug together again. As if that would actually work. But my mind is full of static.

“Working,” he repeats slowly, as if I’d been speaking a language that’s new to him. “Here?”

“Here,” I say firmly. As if it’s perfectly normal to move to the tiny town where your ex grew up and take a job working with his father.

“For how long?” he demands, crossing his arms in front of a chest that’s even broader than it used to be back when we used to rip each other’s clothes off.

Do not picture him naked, I order myself, because things are about to get even more awkward. “Going on ten years now.”

His kissable mouth tightens. “Ten years?” His eyes narrow as he stares down at me.

So many times I’ve pictured this moment—coming face to face with Reed again. I always knew it would sting. And I always knew he’d be surprised.

But he sounds so bitter. I don’t know what to do with that. The Reed I knew in college was a little wild and a whole lot of fun. At least until the end.