‘I don’t know any more.’ The tears were back in her eyes, blurring her vision. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I’m worrying that what’s right for me might be wrong for Lexi. I’ve uprooted her. I’ve dragged her away from everything familiar. We had to leave our home, but I didn’t have to come this far away—’ Taking the knife from the drawer, Jenna turned, wishing she hadn’t said so much. ‘Sorry. You wanted a cup of coffee, not a confessional. My call has held you up. If you want to change your mind and get on with your day, I quite understand.’

It was mortifying, having your life exposed in front of a stranger.

‘I’m not leaving until I’ve had my coffee. I’m not safe to drive.’ He leaned against the granite work surface, thumbs hooked in his pockets. ‘Why did you have to move?’

‘I’m divorced.’ There seemed no point in not being honest. Why keep it a secret?

It had happened. There was no going back. She had to get used to it.

The problem was that once people knew you were divorced, they inevitably wanted to know why.

Jenna stared at the coffee in her hand, trying not to think about the girl with the long legs and the blond hair who had been lying on her husband’s desk having crazy, abandoned sex. When had she ever had crazy, abandoned sex? When had she ever lost control? Been overwhelmed—?

‘Careful! You’re going to cut yourself—’ A frown on his face, Ryan removed the knife from her hand. ‘In fact you have cut yourself. Obviously this isn’t a conversation to have while you’re holding a sharp object. Let me look at that for you.’

Jenna watched as blood poured down her finger. ‘Oh!’

Ryan took her hand and held it under the tap, cleaned it and then examined the cut. ‘We need to find a plaster. Call me traditional, but I prefer milk in my coffee.’ He was cool and calm, but Jenna was thoroughly embarrassed, and she tugged her hand away from his, dried it in a towel and applied pressure.

‘Stupid of me. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘You were thinking of your ex-husband. Perhaps I should clear the knives out of the cutlery drawer.’

‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.’

‘Obviously not, or your hand wouldn’t be bleeding now. And no one emerges from divorce completely unscathed.’

‘I didn’t say I was unscathed, Dr McKinley. I said I was fine.’

‘Ryan—’ He handed her another piece of kitchen roll for her finger. ‘Call me Ryan. Round here we tend to be pretty informal. Do you always pretend everything is OK when it isn’t?’