Page 5

I would never have to think of him again.

I just had to deliver him the paperwork.

My attorney assured me that my time spent in Perry’s presence during the divorce would be minimal. I could do most of my communication through him.

The only time I might have to see him would be during depositions, court hearings, or a trial.

But I could endure those if they meant I would get Perry out of my life for good.

Though my lawyer also warned me that if Perry contested the divorce, I could be looking at six to twelve months of still worrying about him, of having him drag our entire lives through the mud. Even though I didn’t want anything from him. Didn’t care if I got a dime, so long as I got my freedom.

I made it to the corner, hoping my hair was still fully hidden beneath my baseball cap. Perry could spot it from a block away—the natural golden-blonde hair. I swore it was half the reason he wanted to marry me, with how obsessed with it he was.

Some part of me wanted to dye it just to spite him. Or make him want me less.

I made it to the corner just in time to see Perry climbing out of his car and stepping up to a storefront with a half-tattered green and white awning and grimy front windows.

It wasn’t the kind of place I could see Perry willingly stepping inside. But, somehow, that was just what he did.

And I damn sure wasn’t going into some creepy, dark store with him.

I moved further down the street, trying to read the sign, hoping to catch Perry as soon as he came out of the door, before he climbed back in his car.

My heart was wedged in the back of my throat. Which wasn’t good with the whole bile rising up situation.

I hadn’t seen him up close in six weeks.

The idea of walking up to him made my knees feel like they were knocking.

What would I do if he did something like grab my arm? Tried to tug me toward the car? Force me in?

I had a feeling that if he got me back to the house, I would never leave it again. I’d be a prisoner like before, only worse.

“You okay?” a voice called, making me jerk and whip around, my hand going to my throat.

Standing there was a guy with an arm full of what looked like plank flooring, making me realize I was standing beside the dumpster in the parking lot of the bar.

“I, uh, yeah.” The airy, choked sound of my voice didn’t exactly make the words convincing.

My gaze trailed up the man’s tall, broad body, taking in his wide chest, his strong shoulders, the arms that looked like they could juggle sequoia trees for fun, and—finally—his face.

I hated that the first thing I noticed was that he was the exact opposite of Perry.

Where Perry had one of those upper-crust boarding school type faces, this guy had hypermasculine features: a wide, square jaw, a strong brow ridge, a flatter mid-face, a wider nose bridge, and somewhat narrow light blue eyes.

He had dark blond hair and a half sleeve of tattoos peeking out of his shirt.

He was gorgeous in a way that made me think he could fix a leaky sink or repair my car’s engine kind of way.

“You sure?” he asked, reaching to toss the spent floorboards into the dumpster, making me nearly leap out of my skin.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” I admitted.

“All decked out like a cat burglar in the middle of the day, I figure not.”

He had a deep, rough voice.

Again, I hated that I immediately thought of Perry’s smooth, almost to the point of slimy, voice.