He wasn’t engaged? My thoughts whirled at a hectic pace. “Why?” I blurted out and then blushed. “I’m sorry. That’s probably none of my business.”

“I thought you already knew. I’m kind of surprised your parents haven’t said something,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Obviously, they haven’t.” Mom hadn’t even mentioned it last night. Why wouldn’t they say something? Then it hit me. Probably because she was afraid I would fall back in love with him if he was available. Geez. Did they really think I was that . . . predictable? Or pathetic. Either “P” word would work. “What happened?”

He drew in a deep breath. “We just grew apart.”

“That’s . . . that’s all?” I blinked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Brock was and had been unreachable and untouchable for the last six years. I had long since accepted that he was going to marry the beautiful, shiny Kristen. They would have kids, a whole cargo van full of kids. They’d practically grow up at the Academy. My parents would dote on them, because Brock was like a son to them, so their kids would be like grandbabies, and I would be okay with it. I had been okay with it, because there wasn’t a choice to not be.

I sat back, utterly shocked. “You were together for—”

“Almost six years. I know,” he said, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

And that’s all he said.

Realizing that he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, I let it drop. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He studied me a moment. “That’s nothing to be sorry about, Jillian.”

My breath caught a little, and his large office suddenly felt entirely too small, so I started to rise. “Thank you for hearing me out about the potential for expansion. I’ll call them and see when they have some time available.”

Brock waited until I reached the door and said, “Don’t forget to tell them to bring their husbands and to plan to grab dinner afterward.”

Slowly, I faced him.

He smiled at me as he picked up the remote. “One big, happy date, Jillian.”

* * *

“I’m just a girl, standing in front of an oven, asking it to hurry up and bake my pizza.”

Sighing, I all but planted my forehead on the oven door. There were still twenty-some minutes left. That meant forever. Turning away from the oven, I watched Rhage chow down, his tail sliding across the floor like he was angry-eating. I glanced at my phone as I nibbled on my lower lip. The desire to call Abby and talk to her about Brock was burning through me.

Brock wasn’t engaged.

Was this common knowledge back home?