“Sounds like somethin’ I can’t miss,” Mickey replied, glancing at his watch.

“If you’ve gotta go, honey, then I’ll make them some other time when you’re with us,” I offered.

He looked to me, sliding his eyes to Auden then to Pip, who was coming out of the fridge with eggs and milk, and finally back to me.

“Got time for eggs, Amy.”

He had to go.

But he was staying because my kids were worried that he didn’t like them and he wanted them to know it was all good.

I wanted to declare my love for him again right then and there.

I had to do it with a look.

Mickey gave me that look back.

“Mom, you want me to grate the cheese?” Pip asked.

I tore my attention from my guy and gave it to my daughter. “Yeah, Pippa.”

She dashed back to the fridge, and I was going to go for a bowl when I caught sight of Lawrie now studying Mickey who was sipping his coffee.

He didn’t look proud.

He looked like he approved.

As he would do.

Mickey was the greatest.

This still made me happy.

* * * * *

I sat at a table by the window at The Lobster Market.

Not the table I shared with Mickey, one closer to the front door.

I was sipping iced tea when Conrad, fifteen minutes late, walked in.

I watched his eyes move around the room until they found me and he came my way.

He was in work clothes, a very nice, very expensive suit that had not been tailored for him but made for him. His hair was trim and kept in place with minimal product. It was a style that suited him. He looked like a very successful businessman who used his money to take care of himself.

Or he looked like a talented neurosurgeon who did the same.

Studying him, it didn’t surprise me I no longer found him the least bit attractive. Harkening back, I tried to figure out how I ever did. This made me think about him coming outside during that ball.

The prince meeting his future princess, it had seemed to me at the time.

But he was a toad.

It just took me years of kissing him to find that out.

Continuing to regard him as he came to me, I didn’t take my eyes from him as he stopped at our table.

“Amelia,” he greeted.

“Conrad,” I replied.

He took his seat.

The Lobster Market was my idea. Not that I wanted to pollute my memory of being there with Mickey. Nothing would pollute that. But my ex-husband was not going to take me to some diner to have a chat, which was likely to be something I would not enjoy, and get away with an inexpensive diner bill.

He was going to buy me lobster.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he muttered, his attention on putting his napkin on his lap. “Consultation ran long.”