“Edward,” I said, my voice practically a whisper. I took a big swig of my wine. I knew seeing my ex was unavoidable, but I’d hoped to hold off at least a few minutes.

He leaned in to kiss my cheek but I turned my head away so he got a mouthful of hair before he pulled back.

“Thatcher Manning.” Thatcher stuck his hand out.

Edward blinked, then was forced by good manners to shake, but recognized a block when he saw one. “Edward Klein.”

My heart was pounding and my palms were damp. I hadn’t seen Edward since a holiday party a few years ago. Living in a different town made it easy to avoid him, but Mother often updated me on his life. Sadly.

“You look good,” Edward told me. “I guess the bakery’s doing well.”

I bristled at the subtle insult. I might taste my products, but I didn’t eat the entire case. It was bad to eat the profits. How had I dated him for almost a year?

“You look… the same,” I replied. He did look good. For him. But next to Thatcher, his flaws were obvious. He was short with a paunch and his hair was receding. It wasn’t that other men with those attributes weren’t nice, but it was the fact that he was a cheater that put him in the asshole category.

Where both men spent lots of time outdoors, Edward did it in khakis and golf shirt with a five iron in his hand. Thatcher might own a bar, but it was obvious—and I didn’t mean because of the Stetson on his head—that he was all cowboy.

“This your ex?” Thatcher asked, his voice even.

I blushed and murmured my assent as I took another sip of wine.

Surprising me, and Edward, Thatcher reached out and slapped him on the shoulder. “I want to thank you, Eddie.”

“Edward,” he countered, but Thatcher ignored him.

“You being such a dipshit made it easy for Astrid to recognize a decent guy when I came along.”

I choked on my next sip. Thatcher turned to me, stroked my back. “You okay, sweets?”

I nodded, stunned. He’d stood up for me. He’d put Edward… Eddie, in his place. My mother hadn’t, only wondered why I couldn’t make him happy enough not to cheat. My sister didn’t understand why I’d walked away from his bank account. My father hadn’t said anything, which was his M.O.

But Thatcher… he didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t in the fake boyfriend job description. But he had.

“I think your sister called for you,” he added. “You ready to go hang with the ladies?”

Looking between the two of them, the guy who’d gotten in my pants but was an asshole and the guy I wanted in my pants who wasn’t.