“Thanks, but no thanks. You’ve done enough.”

Seconds crawled by as I lingered in front of the table, wanting to leave but unable to make my body cooperate. My feet stayed firmly glued to the floor, stuck in some form of malignant denial. This couldn’t be happening. This was Luke. My Luke.

I studied his face, tracing the features I knew better than my own. Pale blue eyes framed with thick lashes; strong jawline, cleft in his chin; and a Roman nose that was slightly crooked from a break in minor hockey. I always said it added character to his otherwise perfect face.

It was a face I’d woken up to. A friend who’d seen me at my worst. A lover who’d witnessed my most vulnerable moments.

But this person sitting before me was a stranger.

“You’re still coming to the game tomorrow night, right?”

The sadness in my gut morphed into rage. Even now, he wanted me as a groupie.

“You have got to be kidding.” I snatched my purse off the chair beside me. “I’ll be at the game, but only because of Derek. Not you. I’d cheer against you if I could.”

* * *

The next morning, I perched at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and a plate of food that I had zero interest in actually consuming. My stomach turned as I pushed the now-cold scrambled eggs around my plate, trying to muster up the will to eat.

According to the digital clock on the stove, it was a quarter past eight, which meant I’d been staring at my food for nearly an hour. My mother always said a hearty breakfast was the key to starting the day on the right foot, but no amount of food could fix the events of last night. Nothing could, short of a magic wand.

“Good morning!” My roommate Amelia breezed into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffeepot. Clearly, her day was off to a far better start than mine. She was already dressed in a cropped pink sweater and distressed jeans, and her curly brown hair was woven into a thick braid. I was still unshowered and wearing ratty purple pajamas, my long hair in a tangled rats’ nest. My skin was blotchy, my eyes swollen, and my heart empty.

The idea of being single again after a year and a half was akin to being adrift, lost at sea without a compass. I didn’t know who I was without Luke. I didn’t want to know.

With her back turned, Amelia poured herself a massive cup of french roast, then went to the fridge and pulled out the vanilla creamer. “How was your birthday dinner?” She shut the door with her hip.

“Well—” The words got stuck in my throat. “Not great.”

Amelia laughed and stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. “Why, Luke keep you up all night?”