Chapter One

"I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE."

The five words hung in the air at the table between my husband of nearly nineteen years and me. I knew that he'd spoken them. I'd seen his mouth move, but I couldn't fully wrap my mind around the implications or the full weight of their meaning.

Surely, I'd heard Thomas wrong. He couldn't have possibly said that he wasn't in love with me anymore.

Right?

I mean, we'd been together nearly all our adult lives. He couldn't have just magikally fallen out of love with me.

Could he?

Shock kept me from tearing up as I reached up and clutched my wire-wrapped basanite pendant that hung from a black leather strap around my neck. It had arrived in the mail the day prior and was a gift from a close friend. The pendant was supposed to help with calmness and aid with grounding energy, among other things. Right now, it wasn't helping in the least.

The classical music playing at a level that would mask other people chewing filled the fancy restaurant he'd insisted on taking me to for a surprise dinner. When Thomas had called me from work, telling me he wanted to treat me to a night out, I'd stopped everything to be sure I was ready. And I'd been looking forward to spending time with him.

He'd been so busy with work as of late that quality time together was sparse. While he might have fallen out of love with me, he was still a vital part of my life.

I'd been working in my greenhouse when he'd phoned home, telling me to put on a fancy dress and be ready for an evening out. I'd had to use the speaker option on the phone because I'd been elbow- deep in dividing and pruning herbs. It was a messy task with the sheer number of herbs I had to handle. Prior to that, I'd been in the outside portion of my gardens, weeding and tending to my various plants and flowers. It was something I not only loved to do but was required for my business.

So despite the fact I'd been busy with tasks that needed to be done, I'd set it all aside to spend time with him. Never had I thought Thomas wanted to treat me to a night out only to tell me he wasn't in love with me anymore.

Yet sitting across the table from him in the high- end restaurant, with the words still hanging in the air between us like a giant lead balloon, I began to make sense of it all. Normally, we met in the middle in terms of the places where we liked to eat. I was into simple choices. Nothing that would be reviewed in a fine-dining magazine. He liked fancy establishments where he could flaunt his wealth and use his perfect French. Such was the case with the one we were at now. To me, it was a place that grossly overcharged for so-so food, piled in a tower shape.

I couldn't help but to pluck the parsley from the side of my plate and run my fingers over it. Having grown up with a grandmother who fancied herself a kitchen witch, I was very aware of the supposed uses for various herbs to help push away negativity.

While I didn't necessarily buy into that end of the many uses of herbs, I was in need of anything I could get at the moment to help with the oppressive negativity at the table.

As Thomas crossed his fork over his butter knife on his plate, I grimaced. The crossing of silverware was another affront that would have sent my grandmother into a tizzy. Right about now, I wished she were still alive so she could not only act as the emotional pillar she'd always been throughout my life, but possibly lend me a hand in cursing the man before me.

The one I'd spent half of my life with.

The one who had dragged me to the damn fancy restaurant to begin with.

The entire establishment screamed Thomas. From the ridiculously wordy menu that spent a good paragraph or more explaining one entrée, to the gentleman who had seated us, pretending like we were the King and Queen of England or something, it was all too much.

Pretentious.

That was what the place was.

And it was the kind of restaurant where talking above a low whisper didn't go without notice.

Precisely why he'd brought me there.

In the hopes I wouldn't cause a fuss.

Not that I was known for outbursts or anything, but I wasn't above them when warranted. And this was more than warranted.

I knew it, and from the look on his face, so did Thomas. His expression was guarded but there was something in his gaze that smacked of smugness. Like he knew he had me right where he wanted me, trapped in a public place while he dropped the equivalent of napalm on our relationship.

Unlike my best friend Dana, I wasn't the type of woman to cause a fuss in public. Hell, I rarely caused one in private either. Confrontation wasn't something I thrived with, so I tried my best to avoid it, but that didn't mean I wasn't capable. And it didn't mean my normally kind temperament equaled me being weak.

I wasn't.

Thomas pulled the white linen napkin from his lap and set it to the side of his plate of half-eaten red snapper with sunflower risotto. "Poppy, did you hear me?"

I'd heard him all right. I was still struggling with what he'd said. Honestly, I was torn between breaking down in tears and throwing my plate of food at his face while shouting and making the biggest scene he'd ever borne witness to.

A slight nod was all I could manage as I reached for my water glass with a shaky hand. Suddenly I was parched. As if I'd been without water for days. The news my husband evidently didn't love me anymore had not only taken the wind out of my sails, it had stolen the saliva from my mouth as well.

Why not, right?

I took a sip but struggled to get the small amount to go down as my stomach dropped out on me and the tiny portions of pan-seared salmon that I'd eaten threatened to pay me another visit. Would it taste better coming up than it had going down?

One could only hope.

I set the glass on the table and noticed the slightest of trembles remaining in my hand.

Thomas hadn't even waited until we were finished with the meal before he'd tossed down the gauntlet. Wasn't that kind of news something you delivered after cake or a decadent dessert? I mean, at least then I'd have had comfort food in front of me. Not the crap the restaurant wanted a lot of money for that lacked flavor.

Right now the only saving grace was the fact I could use the garnish to help counter the negative energy surrounding me. Then again, I'd probably need the olive oil from the bread plate, the entire saltshaker, and every bit of rosemary in the bread to make even a small dent in the amount of bad vibes Thomas had brought with him. They were hovering over us now like a black cloud.

"I don't think you love me anymore either," he continued, doing what he'd been known to do in the past—put words in my mouth.

After nineteen years of marriage, I knew him well, or thought I did. He was the type of person who twisted words around to suit his needs and desired outcome. And apparently, he was the type of man who was willing to throw away nineteen years of marriage without any warning.

Did I really mean that little to him? And if so, how had he managed to buffalo me into believing otherwise for so long? I was hardly what anyone would label as gullible, yet I felt like the biggest heel.

How could I have not seen it all coming?

"I think it goes without saying that I want a divorce," he stated, as if that was the type of thing one dropped on another after having wined and dined them, claiming it was a special occasion. Since his forty-second birthday was approaching, I hadn't thought anything of it. I even had a watch gift wrapped for him at home. I had planned to give it to him when we returned. Right now, I just wanted to cram it down his throat. "We'll need to iron out the details on assets, and of course you can keep your little hobby."

"Business," I corrected, surprised I'd managed to find my voice considering the state of disbelief I was in. Not to mention the amount of negative energy hanging above us like a dark cloud, waiting to descend and swallow us both whole.

If my mother could hear my thoughts, she'd have been quick to point out I was letting my grandmother's influence show through. That there was no such thing as negative energy or bad vibes.

For the most part, I tended to believe her, but at the moment, they sure felt real.

Ironically, for as skeptical as I was, I made my income off selling various items that would lead others to think I was a practitioner of witchcraft.

I wasn't.

Not that witchcraft was truly real or anything, despite what my grandmother had believed while alive.

I just had an incredibly thorough understanding of certain things. All thanks to my grandmother and my formal education. And those had lent themselves nicely to what I did to make money.

My small online shop offered a variety of herbs, handmade soaps, crystals, candles, and lotions. If you asked Thomas, witchy potions had never been what one would call a windfall, but the business ran in the black. It provided me a modest income, and of course, I could have pushed to increase revenue by pouring money into advertising, but I'd been content and had more than enough business for me to handle alone.

Yet, it was nothing Thomas ever took seriously.

No shock.

Most of what I did or enjoyed was laughable to him. And he rarely paid it any mind.

Case in point, my feelings on the bombshell he'd dropped upon me. He hadn't really cared or bothered to hear my side of it all, as noted by the fact he was still speaking. The sound of his voice apparently was all the fuel he needed to go on all damn night.

Like I was invisible.

It hit me then that this was far from the first time he'd done such a thing to me in the last several years. For some reason, I'd accepted it during all those other occasions, brushing it off like it didn't hurt.

But it did.

It hurt a lot.

And it made me mad. So much so, I accidentally crushed the small bit of parsley as I moved it around with one finger. Soon enough I'd have it ground to a pulp if I kept going. I managed to stop but had to work to get the parsley flecks off my fingertip.

"Of course, with the twins having only just started college, that will continue to be taken care of by me. I wouldn't expect that to fall on you," he said with a flip of his hand in the air. The act was so dismissive that I wanted to scream out in frustration.

I didn't.

He continued on. "Tucker and Pepper need quality educations. They are Davieses, after all, and nothing but the best is expected from them. So they'll need to continue at Yale. It's a Davies tradition. Tuition is well and truly out of your budget. Besides, books alone would be more than you could swing.

"Then you and I could come to a buyout arrangement for your half of the house. You have that house in South Carolina in that town—I can't recall the name of it, Cove something or other—that your grandmother left you in her will when she passed. The one I've made sure the property tax is paid on and that someone tends to. It's not like you'd be homeless."

I stared blankly at him. He expected me to leave the home I'd made for us? The one I'd raised our children in? The one with marks on the mudroom wall where I'd measured the kids each year on their birthdays to be able to track their growth? The one that had their tiny handprints in the concrete of the walk path through my garden?

He had to be joking.

I ran my business out of my home. My inventory was housed there in the back shed that I'd converted over to something of a greenhouse and a workstation. My garden was there, where I grew my own herbs. My entire life was there.

Not to mention, Thomas hadn't been the one who had covered the taxes or paid to have someone tend to the property. That had all been seen to by my grandmother prior to her passing. All Thomas had done was make sure that our joint taxes were completed. That meant including the inherited property. Nothing more. But he liked to embellish and take credit where it was not due.

My grandmother had never much cared for him, and that always confused me. Right now, I totally got her thoughts on the man.

She and I had been close all my life. I was her only grandchild, and my parents already had a life they were happy with in Connecticut. They had no want or desire to move back to South Carolina. They'd been supportive of my grandmother's decision to leave me her home in Grimm Cove.

I'd had guilt since I'd learned about it at the reading of her will.

She'd gone to live with my parents nearly twenty years back, when my grandfather had passed away, but had refused to let the house be sold. Apparently, generations of my grandfather's family had lived in the home, and she'd promised him that tradition would continue.

My father had an odd relationship with his mother and father. He often told me their ways were old and dated and that they had a lot of the South in them—whatever that meant. I just saw them as sweet and loving individuals. Slightly superstitious and eccentric, yes, but that was all.

And despite my parents' attempts to put distance between themselves and their Southern upbringing, they never denied me having a touch of the same life, and I was grateful.

I could still remember spending summers with my grandparents in Grimm Cove, at their home, playing in the woods or heading down the trails that led to Cooper River. Not that there was any shortage of water or woods options surrounding Grimm Cove.

It was my grandmother who had instilled a love of gardening in me and who had taught me to make soaps, lotions, and other home remedies. When I'd gone off to college, my summers had been spent interning, and I'd been unable to visit Grimm Cove for the same length of time as I had before. My trips had only been a couple of weeks versus an entire summer.

That was one of my biggest regrets—not spending more time with my grandfather, who my son was named after, before he'd died.

I hadn't made that same mistake with my grandmother. Four times a year the kids and I had flown to my parents' home to spend time with them. The twins would then spend part of their summers with my parents. It had given the twins time with my grandmother before she'd passed away and assured they spent time with my parents as well.

When Grandma passed two years ago, my daughter had taken her death just as hard as I had. The two had been incredibly close.

That was when I'd also learned of the home in Grimm Cove being left to me. I'd honestly thought it had been sold after my grandfather passed. I was surprised to find out it hadn't and that she'd left it to me.

I kept meaning to find time to go to Grimm Cove and check on the property, but the days got away from me.

If Thomas had his way, I'd be visiting Grimm Cove very soon.

I still couldn't believe he thought I'd hand over my home without a protest. He really didn't know me at all.

"No," I said firmly, having heard very little of what he'd continued droning on about at the table.

"What?" he asked, seeming taken aback by my response.

"No. We won't come to an arrangement on buying me out of my half of the house. I want the house. If you want out of the marriage so badly, go. But you're not taking my home."

I was proud of the courage and resolve I showed in the face of what had been thrown at me.

He gave me a sympathetic look that said he felt sorry for me and my simple-minded ways—typical Thomas. "Poppy, we both know you can't afford the house on your own. You're nearly forty and your business, as you want me to call it, makes pennies. Plus, it's not as if you come from money. Sure, your parents and family have done decently for themselves and live comfortable lives, but they're no Davieses."

There it was again.

The fact he was a Davies and I was merely a Proctor. My family wasn't large, with loads of old money to stand behind. No. My family's claim to fame was that my distant ancestors, on my father's side, were part of the Salem witch trials. All I knew was that a chunk of the family tree had made their way to South Carolina in hopes of leaving their tragic past behind them in Salem. Not exactly something that bought a lot of clout in the circles that Thomas and his family ran in.

They'd been against him being with me from day one.

I was beneath them.

The free-spirited girl who played in the dirt for a living. The girl whose parents lived in a section of Connecticut that wasn't quite as expensive as the rest. Which was how I'd come to meet Thomas (whose family was from California) to begin with. We'd both attended Yale and met my junior year. I'd gone on scholarships, where he had not. I'd focused my studies on botany and plant sciences, along with natural medicines. I'd thought I'd go on to get a medical degree, specializing in alternative medicines, but that hadn't been in the cards for me.

Not that a medical degree would have helped the Davies family accept me any more than they did.

Thomas's mother had wanted him to marry well. Select a woman of her choosing, with a good pedigree, to wed and have a family with. Instead, he'd ended up with me—the wild child, as she often called me under her breath.

Someone who was more attuned with Mother Nature and the Earth than the high-society crowd she traveled with. I'd have thought she'd be more open to my alternative lifestyle choices, since she was from California, but no. She was anything but open- minded when we'd moved here to be closer to them (my husband's decision).

She'd tried dozens of times to get me to go to the salon with her and get the latest trendy hairstyle, or to wear expensive outfits. I'd refused, choosing instead to keep my natural, long dark hair. And I preferred bohemian fashion styles to the high-end fashion and heeled shoes she was always trying to talk me into. Don't even get me started on jewelry.

I made my own.

She was horrified at the thought.

There was a lot about me she didn't care for. Evidently her son was finally on board with her views of me.

It took me a moment to realize Thomas was still speaking. I'd drowned his voice out at some point.

"Wouldn't you rather take a lump sum of money and start over somewhere else? You used to tell me how much you loved your summers as a child with your grandparents in Cove something-or-other."

"Grimm," I said. "Grimm Cove."

"Right. Don't you want to start over there? Isn't that where your little hillbilly soldier buddy is from?" he asked, still stuck on the topic of wanting the house.

All I wanted to do at the moment was take my fork and jab him in the eye. Taking a lump sum payout wasn't even at the forefront of my mind. Basically, inflicting a world of hurt on him took precedent.

The pendant wasn't doing anything in the way of grounding me. I seriously considered smearing it in the smashed parsley and then throwing it all at Thomas's forehead.

To add insult to injury, the jab he'd taken at my "little hillbilly soldier buddy" stung. I'd been open and honest with him about the one and only relationship I'd had prior to dating him.

The guy, Brett Kasper—who was not a hillbilly— had been the sun, moon, and stars to me. I'd met him the summer I turned fifteen while I was in Grimm Cove. We'd hit it off instantly and had become fast friends—best friends, even. We stayed in contact during the months I was back in Connecticut by way of letters and weekly phone calls and talked endlessly about getting to spend time together over the summers. I'd thought things were perfect.

I'd been wrong.

Seemed a running theme in my relationships.

But unlike Thomas, Brett hadn't left me for another woman. He'd just simply left me. He'd run out on me after a night together my sophomore year of college, and he'd never looked back. The only thing I'd gotten from him was a letter saying that while he'd always love me, he couldn't see me anymore, and not to reach out to him—to respect his wishes and move on with my life.

So I had.

Even though the relationship had been the type of first-love innocence that only came around once in a lifetime, it had been important to me. Very important. I'd been crushed when he'd dumped me.

Dana, who hadn't ever met Brett in person, had offered to hunt him down and break his kneecaps. She was a true friend like that.

I knew when she heard about what Thomas had done, she would probably forgo asking my permission and just hobble him.

Oddly, I was fine with that.

Chapter Two

DANA VAN HELSING was my loud-mouth opinionated friend who wasn't known for taking anyone's crap. And Thomas was shoveling a mountain of it right about now. If he kept going, I'd likely never be able to dig my way out.

Dana had disliked Thomas from the day she'd met him our freshman year of college. So, she'd known him longer than I had even. She'd warned me then that he was the kind of guy who had been handed everything he'd ever wanted all his life. That he sneezed money, and if he didn't get his way, he'd be difficult—a spoiled brat. She'd even told me that his family would forever be an issue—that they'd always try to drive a wedge between us.

She'd been right on all accounts.

But I'd been blinded by love, swept up in the whirlwind romance Thomas had provided. He'd seemed so caring at first. So attentive. So ready to clean up the mess Brett had left behind.

Shortly after getting my four-year degree, I'd found out I was already three months pregnant. Thomas had shown his true colors for the first time then, telling me it wasn't a good time for us to be starting a family.

Dana and Marcy (my other college roommate and best friend) had formed what they liked to call a wall of estrogen-powered protection around me, letting him know I didn't need a man in my life to raise my child. He was welcome to move on down the road.

Thomas had proposed the following day. He'd told me that he loved me and couldn't imagine spending a day away from me.

My how things had changed.

We were married within a month of his proposal, and he'd gone on to graduate school while I'd worked full time and raised our fraternal twins.

It had been hard at first, while Thomas was in grad school and I was juggling two children along with work, but we'd managed. He'd eventually gotten hired on with a tech firm where he'd advanced through the ranks quickly. He'd then insisted I stay home with the children.

I'd loved spending more time with the kids.

Our life in California had been good.

Very good, or so I'd thought.

When the kids had started school, I'd gotten the idea to begin selling some of the lotions and soaps I always made from all-natural ingredients for friends and family. That had expanded into other areas for me as well, and before long, I had a nice little home business. I was proud of it. Of what I'd managed to do while still being a full-time mother. But he'd never understood my interests, often making snide comments about the money I made, since it was so little in comparison to what he brought in.

Over the years, I'd developed something of a tough skin. But even my skin wasn't thick enough for what he was dishing out tonight.

"Where is this coming from?" I asked.

"Where is what coming from?" he returned.

"You never hinted at being unhappy before now," I countered. "It was just a month or so ago that you were talking about wanting to possibly take a few weeks off so we could tour Europe together. You were so excited about it all."

"Things change," he said.

I exhaled slowly. "We could have gone to someone and discussed it. We still can."

He averted his gaze.

I tensed. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

He exhaled and fidgeted with his napkin. "I guess you'll find out soon enough anyway. Yes. There is someone else."

For a moment, I thought for sure a Mack truck had come through the restaurant and run me right over. I couldn't help but look down at my person to verify I'd not actually been struck by something.

"How long?" I asked, squaring my shoulders, as I began to smooth at the napkin on my lap. The black dress I wore, which was about as close to one his mother would have selected as I could get, was long and flowing, yet hugged all my curves (which were more than I'd started with prior to birthing two children, but I was still considered fit). "How long have you been having an affair?"

"Keep your voice down," he said firmly, glancing around to see if anyone was looking in our direction.

They weren't.

My gaze flickered in the direction I knew the restrooms to be, and I considered excusing myself if for no other reason than to push distance between myself and Thomas.

There was a woman there, standing near a large potted plant and ornate wall sconce. Her deep red hair was piled high onto her head, and she had a huge streak of white running through the front section that looked to twist all the way up as well. She was dressed like she was a member of the waitstaff yet none of them paid her any mind.

In fact, no one other than myself seemed to notice her there.

She was a good forty to fifty feet from me, yet I could tell that her eyes were a vibrant teal. It wasn't a color one normally found in nature, so it stuck out to me. That, and for a second, I could have sworn her eyes were iridescent.

With a quick shake of my head, I blinked and then glanced in her direction once more only to find she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere that I could see. It was as if she'd simply vanished into thin air.

The waiter approached with a bottle of red wine in hand and a pleasant smile pressed to his face. He went to refill my glass, but Thomas put his hand out to block the move.

I shocked myself by reaching out and pushing Thomas's hand away.

Dana would have been proud.

I then held my glass up for the waiter. "Extra full please. Can you maybe just leave the bottle? I have a funny feeling I'm going to need to be drunk to continue with this evening."

He did as I asked, filling my glass to the brim, and then paused as if contemplating leaving the bottle. He winked at me. "How about I just check back in a few minutes?"

I got the sense he didn't want to leave me alone with Thomas. He didn't look much older than his mid-twenties, but already he seemed to understand women better than my husband.

I nodded. "Thank you."

He walked off, but I noticed he'd not offered to fill Thomas's glass. I was starting to really like that guy.

Thomas cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Who is she?" I demanded.

"You don't know her," he returned, as if that would make it better.

My focus went to his plate of red snapper risotto. The more I stared at it, the more all the feelings I'd bottled up over the years came flooding back to me. "Thomas, where did you meet her, and how long has it been going on?"

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"It does to me."

He tugged at his shirt collar, attempting to loosen the blue silk tie our daughter had picked out for him for his last birthday. "Fine. You want details. Okay. I met her while I was in New York on business. It's been going on nearly three weeks now. At first, I thought it was just a fling. But it evolved into something more. The lease on her apartment in New York is coming up, and I thought—"

I narrowed my gaze on him as I put my hand around the stem of my wineglass. "You thought what? That you'd move her into my home?"

"The house is in my name if you'll recall."

I slid my finger over the rim of my glass, my temper rising more and more. Yet the angrier I became, the calmer I seemed to be. At least on the outside. On the inside, I was molten-hot lava. "I see. You're throwing away twenty years of marriage for a woman you met three weeks ago and have already decided you want to carve out a new life with? Most men get a fast, sporty car when they hit middle age. Couldn't you have gone that route instead of betraying me, us, like this?"

"Poppy, I'm sorry, but you had to have known something was going on lately. I've barely been home in weeks."

"I noticed, but you lied so eloquently that I didn't think the worst," I said, not backing down an inch.

He stiffened. "I can't explain it to you, Poppy. When I saw Marla at the hotel bar, I just… One thing led to another, and the next I knew we were back in my hotel room together."

I flinched but didn't break down.

"I don't know how to make you understand the connection I feel with her. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. I think about her morning, noon, and night," he said as I clung to my tears, refusing to give them to him. "I'm obsessed with her. And to be honest, she's not the first woman I've slept with while being married to you. There have been others. They didn't mean anything to me. She does."

The bastard clearly didn't see anything wrong with what he'd done. My tears wouldn't make him see the light and change his mind. And truth be told, the more I sat there and thought about it all, the more I realized I didn't want him to change his mind.

More to the point, I didn't want him.

I didn't want a man who could do such a thing to his wife. To his partner in life.

I'd never trust him again.

"I'm sorry to hurt you, but—"

I cut him off. "Are you really? Because it doesn't feel that way to me."

"I'll admit that before I met Marla, I thought I had love for you. Yes, there were other women who I slept with, but like I said, they didn't mean anything. And I was excited about taking a trip with you. But that all changed. She opened my eyes. She made me understand the resentment I felt toward you for taking my freedoms from me when we were young and tethering me down."

I snorted. "I'm sorry, but what? I seem to recall telling you I didn't need you to marry me. I'd be fine on my own, pregnant or not. Or am I remembering it wrong?" I asked.

"Poppy, I thought I wanted that. I thought I wanted you. But I ended up resenting you for taking away my options. But Marla, well, like I said, she opened my eyes."

"No, Thomas, she opened your fly and your dick fell out, along with your common sense. But according to you, that wasn't the first time your dick fell out and lost its mind, so hey, no biggie, right? I kind of hate you right now."

"Poppy, really," he said, disappointment in his voice.

Ha.

That was rich.

Him being disappointed with me.

"Like I pointed out. You had to have noticed the change in the last few weeks. You can't possibly be that—" He stopped just shy of saying stupid.

Good thing, or I'd have likely stabbed him with my fork for real.

"Silly me. I thought everything was fine between us and that my husband was adult enough to come to me before he up and slept with another woman. But the keyword there was 'adult.' We all know you're anything but that. Mommy never really raised you to be one."

"That was a low blow," he said.

"As opposed to you bringing me here, springing the fact you want a divorce, and have been having an affair for…how many weeks was it again?…with a woman you met in a hotel bar, and that she isn't the first woman you've cheated on me with over the course of our marriage?" I asked, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Thomas tugged at his tie more and lifted a hand. "Really, Poppy. Show a little decorum."

My gaze snapped to his half-eaten plate of food once more. Every bit of anger, rage, and hurt I felt seemed to wash through me and exhale from my body.

One second his plate was before him on the table and the next it was deposited on his lap.

He shot up. The plate and most of the food fell to the floor. Some stuck to the groin area of his three- hundred-dollar dress slacks.

For a second, I wondered how he could have been so clumsy as to flip his plate onto his lap—because as much as I'd have loved the satisfaction of throwing it at him, I hadn't touched the thing.

The more I stared at the sight of him in his expensive clothes, covered in a plate of red snapper and risotto, the more the burning anger in me gave way to laughter. The next I knew, it was bubbling up and out of me.

I didn't just laugh. I laughed so hard that I cackled. Then I lost the ability to breathe as I pointed at him with one hand and fanned myself with the other.

Righteous indignation settled over his face as he grabbed his napkin and began wiping at the front of his pants. All that did was smear the food more.

That only made me laugh harder.

It felt good to laugh. It did wonders for getting rid of the tension in my shoulders and the pressure on my chest.

Several women in the restaurant were nodding their heads in approval, snickering along with me. The men with them wisely averted their gazes, avoiding comment. Clearly, they were smarter than my husband.

Thomas threw his napkin on the floor. "I cannot believe you. You're behaving like a…"

"A woman scorned?" I managed through my laughter. I then stood and the waiter rushed over to me. I smiled sweetly at him. "Would you happen to have a phone on you? I really need to call a friend, and I don't think it can wait until I get home where I left my cell phone."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Thomas, his face red from embarrassment. "I'll take you home."

The waiter ignored him and reached into his back pocket, materializing a mobile phone for me. He held it for a second and licked his lower lip. "Your husband is an idiot. If I had a woman like you, I'd never let her go."

As sweet and ego-boosting as that was, he was barely older than my son. "Thank you. Would that you'd have been twenty years older."

He winked. "A guy had to try."

He handed me his phone.

I dialed a number I knew by heart.

Dana answered on the second ring. "I don't know this number. If you're trying to sell me an extended warranty, I'm going to hunt you down and shove my size nine right up your—"

"Dana," I said.

"Poppy?" she asked. "Why are you calling me from this number? Did you lose your cell phone— again? Check the potting shed. The last time you lost it, we found it in a potted plant. Not sure what you were trying to grow. A better coverage plan?"

I met Thomas's gaze. "Thomas wants a divorce. He's been having an affair. This apparently isn't the first time he's done this. And he wants the house."

She was quiet a second.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Call your pit bull. Nice, Poppy. Real nice. Bringing her into this will only make it turn ugly."

"Yes, because bringing in one of my best friends who happens to be an assistant district attorney is totally insane. Especially when my husband of nineteen years tells me he doesn't love me anymore and that I can't keep my house. How utterly irrational of me, Thomas."

He scoffed. "Why don't you call Marcy too? She can wave a crystal at me while she burns incense and chants. Maybe she can conjure a spirit or something to annoy me."

"Can I punch him in the face?" Dana questioned. "Or kick him in the balls?"

"Nah. I'd rather hex him," I said, staring directly at the man who was about to become my former husband.

Thomas's eyes widened. For years, he'd taken little jabs at my family's history, and I knew the very idea that witchcraft could be real in some way scared him.

I narrowed my gaze on him. "With impotence."

"Ha! That would teach him. I love you," said Dana as she laughed. "I'm booking a flight as we speak. I'll get Marcy. We'll be there in a jiffy. Your backup bitches are coming."

I hung up the phone and handed it back to the waiter. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said with a wink. "And if you change your mind about me, your friend has my number on her phone. My name is Austin."

I smiled wider and laughed at the shocked look on Thomas's face.

"Stop hitting on my wife," he said.

The waiter snorted. "Uh, pretty sure she's not going to be your wife much longer there, pal."

Thomas looked livid.

"Could you call a ride service for me?" I asked the waiter.

He grinned. "Yes, but I'm willing to leave work early and take you home myself, if you want."

I couldn't have smiled wider if I tried.

Thomas, of course, protested.

I ignored him and exhaled slowly, my attention on the waiter. "How about I wait out front for you to finish up?"

The waiter shook his head. "It just started to pour outside. Hell of a storm moved into the area. Wait in here. I'll bring you some dessert. Chocolate cake sound good?"

It was raining?

That was odd.

There hadn't been rain in the forecast, and it wasn't like this time of the year was known for having showers pop up.

I stared at Thomas. "Hand the man your credit card, Thomas. After all, this dinner is on you, since I only earn pennies, remember?"

With a grunt, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. "You're not seriously letting this…boy take you home, are you?"

"You didn't seriously throw nineteen years of marriage down the toilet for a woman you've known less than a month, did you?" I countered.

He shut up.