“Amelia, stay,” Josie cajoled as I grabbed my jacket off the hook that was on a high bar that led up from the end of each booth.

I looked to her. “Really, I just need some alone time to think.”

“Babe, you should—” Alyssa started.

“Later,” I interrupted her, and pulling on my coat while juggling my bag, I made my escape.

I went to my house, walked in from the garage and stopped by the glorious dining room table on top of which, weeks before, Mickey had fucked me.

Then right there, he’d told me he loved me.

There were no used pop cans or cake plates with crumbs or cookie tins with the top askew along with no kids at my bar.

There was a fabulous chaise lounge with standing lamp and a table on a magnificent rug on the landing by the windows, this courtesy of a good find by Josie’s interior designer.

The space was huge.

Huge and beautiful.

Huge and cold and empty.

And I found myself standing there, staring at the beauty I created, thinking that I hoped when my kids went to college that they did it far away and never came back to Magdalene.

Because after Mickey ended it with me, once they were gone, I was moving from my show home across the street from the Donovans.

I didn’t know where I’d go. I didn’t even know if I’d survive those years living across from Mickey and his kids.

I just knew I’d be gone.

* * * * *

I was on my chaise lounge under an afghan with my book, and I was taking a sip from a glass of wine when my phone rang that evening.

I looked down at it on the table beside me, saw who was calling, set aside my wine and took the call.

“Mickey,” I greeted.

There was a pause before he said, “Hey.”

I said nothing.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I lied.

“The kids with you?” he went on.

“No,” I told him.

He fell silent.

I didn’t jump in.

He ended the silence with, “We’re back tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Early flight here, get back late there.”

“Yes.”

A pause before he asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You don’t sound right.”

I wasn’t.

I was head over heels in love with a man who no longer wanted me for no reason at all.

“I’m fine,” I lied again.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Amy, what the fuck? Talk to me,” he ordered.

Now, after weeks of me gently trying to get him to talk, he wanted me to talk to him?

“About what?” I asked.

“What’s up your ass,” he answered irately.