I texted Greg the code to get through the gate, and then I sat down to do some work while I waited. I had several other projects I was working on aside from Lexi’s, and I didn’t want to fall behind just because the gala was so all-consuming. The Schneider Pretzel people had been ecstatic about their redesigned logo so at least I could scratch that one off my list.

While I worked, I tried not to think about Nick. It was impossible. In the time we’d been together, he’d permeated every square foot of my apartment. The kitchen where he’d stood drinking his morning coffee, the couch where we’d snuggled while watching old movies, the bedroom where . . . I shook my head . . . best not go there.

There was nothing in this guest house that didn’t bear an imprint of Nick in some way. I realized if he couldn’t forgive me, I was going to have to move. The sooner the better. Maybe I’d put some feelers out at work to see who knew of a place that was available. I hadn’t brought that much stuff with me; surely it wouldn’t be that hard to move. I glanced at the French door that was open just a crack. I wondered what Sir would make of my departure. Could I take him with me? The thought of never seeing his inquisitive little face again about did me in.

My eyes watered up, but my therapeutic cry sesh was interrupted by the sound of someone at the door. “Annabelle!” Knock, knock, knock. “It’s me, Greg.”

I sat up straight and swiped at my eyes, which were damp. Just like that, my tears evaporated because the BD was here, and I was not about to have my ex-husband find me in such a state over a man and a cat.

I took a deep breath and told myself to get it together. I fluffed my hair and smoothed my skirt and then I hurried across the living room to answer the door.

I pulled it open and there he was. With his thick black hair falling in waves just past his shoulders, his beat-up black leather jacket, worn jeans, and biker boots, he looked exactly as I remembered him.

“Hi, Greg,” I said.

He shook his head. “What sort of lame-ass greeting is that? Come in for the real thing.” He opened his arms wide and I stepped in for a hug. This was one of his genuine talents. He was an excellent hugger. He managed to make you feel safe and secure without squishing you and he never held on overlong.

He let me go, and I glanced past him at the Harley parked in front of my house. “Yours?”

“Rental,” he said. “I’m just in town to visit my dad.”

“Carl’s living here?”