Sanders’s eyes go wide, and he sits back, looking between the two of us. His dark, beady eyes study our faces, our body language, and as he sizes us up, he must see something that I don’t see, because he slowly starts shaking his head. “No, this is not over. I can feel your energy.”

Feel our energy? Coming from the guy tossing a football around during our session?

“It’s charged. There’s still a spark, and if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you turn that spark into a full-blown inferno.”

Yeah, not interested. Thanks though.

I’m about to tell him that we’ll discuss this when Wilder and I get home, but before I can even put on an expression of gratefulness, Wilder jumps in and ruins everything. “How?”

Nooooo.

Visions of shoving my shoe into his mouth cloud my brain as I hold back the feral cry of anger bubbling up inside me.

Dude, we were good.

We were on our way out.

Stop making bad choices.

“I’m glad you asked,” Sanders says with a touch of perkiness in his voice as he stands from the coffee table and moves over to his desk. He sifts through a mound of papers and then pulls out a brochure.

What the hell is that?

“Starting Monday, I’m putting on an eight-day marriage camp up in the Catskills. I only invite a select few couples. We spend eight days talking over our feelings and rediscovering the original spark of connection. I have couples on the verge of divorce like yourselves and couples who come to rejuvenate their marriage.”

A marriage camp?

He’s got to be joking.

“Like a summer camp for adults?” Wilder asks, looking far too interested for my liking.

He reaches for the brochure, but I snag it from Sanders before Wilder can even lay a finger on it.

Oh no, you don’t, mister. Don’t even freaking think about it.

“Precisely. Like a summer camp for adults,” Sanders answers. “We focus on bonding techniques, open conversations, and finding the true reason why we fell in love in the first place. It’s activity focused, so if you think we’re going to be sitting on a couch all day, that’s not the case at all.”

“Oh good, because I’m not good at sitting still,” Wilder says.

What do you mean, oh good? No, we don’t show interest in adult marriage camps. We don’t show interest in any sort of resolution.

I need to nip this before it gets out of control, before I end up spending eight days up in the Catskills with a man I don’t know, trying to work out our nonexistent marriage. But I need to tread carefully, because I don’t want to look like the bitch who doesn’t want to work on her relationship.