“I mean, why now? Why after nine years do you suddenly feel like you have to go out there? And you haven’t shared anything with me about your plans. Did something happen?”

I thought of my burgeoning attraction to Evan and couldn’t stop my eyes straying to his mouth. It was always a straight line, hard jaw, faint stubble, a small scar on his upper lip. His bottom lip was full with a faint line indent. Sometimes when he was thinking, he’d pinch it between thumb and forefinger and leave it pinker and fuller. I licked my lips and felt my insides tighten. This was why I had to leave now, but I couldn’t tell him. Because the attraction that had simmered in the background was suddenly singeing the edges of my sanity.

But it wasn’t real. It was situational. My hormones were obviously raging and trying to get in a last party before my biological clock slowed down. I’d read about it today. Women in their early thirties were at their peak sexually. It wasn’t Evan. It was science.

When I didn’t answer him, a look of disappointment crossed his features. “Where are you moving to tomorrow?”

I twisted my mouth, not answering that either.

“I wish you would trust me.” He sounded tired.

“I do. I—”

“Save it,” he said and began to leave. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Over my dead body.” I bristled.

“Don’t joke. Turn your locations back on,” he added over his shoulder. “Pascale Company issued your phone. Until you have a new one, you will comply. Goodnight, Andrea.” And then he bit into his apple and left.

“Ugh.” I slammed the cabin door behind him. Turning my locations off last week had been absolutely terrifying and felt utterly rebellious, but it was necessary if I was ever going to start living again. I was a grown up for God’s sake. I needed to feel safe on my own and to rely on my own instincts and gut feelings. Especially now.

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Acknowledgments

From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for reading Broken French. Check out my writing Spotify playlist here, with special thanks to the music of Ursine Vulpine (Frederick Lloyd).

It’s been three years since I published a romance, and if you were still here waiting for my next one, there are no words left to convey my deep and humbling appreciation. I have to thank my husband (thanks for all the tea in bed and G&T’s at 6pm) and my kids for still championing me and still seeing me as an author on days/weeks/months that I thought I’d never write again. Same for all my dear friends and followers on Social Media.