Myla: It’s overwhelming, and my mind isn’t focused.

Nichole: Then focus on one thing at a time. Where do you want to go when you’re divorced? Are you moving back to Chicago? Are you going to find an old place to renovate? Are you staying in California?

Myla: I don’t know. God, Nichole, I’m so messed up in the head because the mere thought of not being in the same state as Ryot makes me physically ill.

Nichole: Myla . . . I know I’ve been trying to be supportive, but do you think this is the answer? Divorce?

Myla: I don’t know what else to do, Nichole. I really don’t. I feel so hurt, so alone. I saw him more when he was playing baseball and gone almost every other week during the season than I’ve seen him after retirement.

Nichole: Then maybe you should talk to someone, a therapist.

Myla: I have. All she says is that I need to sort out my feelings.

Nichole: Well, I could have told you that.

Myla: Hence why I don’t see her anymore. Anyway, I know you’re probably tired, and I’m hungry, so I’m going to grab something to eat.

Nichole: Okay, love you.

Myla: Love you.

I set my phone down on the table and toss my robe on over my bra and underwear because, even though I like messing with Ryot, I’m just not in the mood tonight. With my silk robe cinched tightly around my waist, I release my curled hair from the clip I had it in, fluff it a bit, and then head out toward the kitchen but stop immediately when I hear voices.

Has Ryot invited guests over?

Slowly, I approach the kitchen, and when I turn the corner to not only see Ryot but JP Cane and his brother, Huxley, I freeze.

JP is the first to spot me. “Oh hey, Myla.” He waves. “Ryot was just telling us about the éclairs he made for you.” My eyes connect with Ryot, who has a pleading look on his face. Technically, I don’t have to act like we’re a happily married couple until the wedding, but that one look from Ryot is all it takes.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile. “They were some of the best éclairs he’s made,” I say quietly.

Ryot’s shoulders visibly relax as he shifts in place, his hand gripping a tumbler tightly.

JP, completely oblivious to the tension, says, “Dude, then you need to make some of those for us.”

Bringing the drink to his lips, Ryot says, “Nah, I only make those for my girl.”

And that’s a true statement. He’s only ever made them for us, for me. He’s never taken them to an event. He’s never made them for company, just me and him, because that was something special between us.

“Well, I’ll let you guys have your time,” I say. “I was just going to grab something to snack on.”

“Pizza will be here any second,” Ryot says.