“I’m not worried about that,” he said, walking toward me. “You look good, Tinker. I’ve missed you. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’m only here because I had a batch of caramels go south on me, and I needed to get caught up. Figured it would be good to use the full kitchen for a couple of days.”

Brandon pulled a stool over to the center island and sat down.

“Do you have a few minutes?” he asked. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Ah, now I was remembering why I didn’t want to stay in Seattle. Whole damned town was infested with Brandon.

“You’ve got five,” I said. His eyes hardened and I could see the hint of frustration he tried to hide—Brandon never liked it when people set limits. Guess the house wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed.

“It’s been eighteen months,” he said in his Very Serious Voice. Juries always fell for it, which I guess I could understand. I used to fall for it, too. Now it just sounded ridiculous. “I think it’s time to discuss our separation.”

Sighing, I grabbed my own stool and pulled it over, sitting down to face him. “You’re right. I talked to my lawyer last week about moving things along faster. He says he still hasn’t gotten all the financials from you. What’s the holdup?”

Brandon frowned. “That’s not really what I meant, Tinker. All along, I’ve tried to give you space. I understood that you needed time to heal, and then when your mother died . . . well, we went through a series of tragedies, and that’s enough to shake any couple. But we’ve both had time to recover, and I think we need to discuss reconciliation.”

“Are you high? No. Just . . . no.”

“Tinker, you’re not even listening to me,” he said, his calm mask cracking. “I don’t think you understand the situation. The current Prosecuting Attorney is stepping down, and he’s going to back me in the next election. It’s great news, but our supporters want you as part of the package. It’s about family values. You’re a beautiful woman who’s built a fantastic business centered on the home arts—”

The blood in my head started to pound.

“You’ve been lying to people about us, haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve told them about the baby, of course, and then explained about your mother. Everyone understands, but I really need you back in Seattle now. If you don’t show your face soon, it could cost me the election.”

“You’re delusional,” I said bluntly. “We’re getting a divorce. Things have been crazy and our finances are complicated—or so you keep telling me—but it’s been eighteen months. You need to send all the documentation to my attorney so we can move forward. I don’t want things to get ugly, but we’re over, Brandon. There’s nothing to reconcile.”

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket, giving it a quick glance. Carrie had texted, wanting to make sure I’d arrived all right. Setting it down on the counter, I looked over at the man I’d wasted ten years of my life on.

“You’ve had a rough day,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have bothered you tonight. Would you be free to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“No, but my attorney might be.”

He laughed, the sound forced. I’d had enough.

“I need to prep,” I told him. “You should go back upstairs and let me work.”

He opened his mouth to argue, so I decided to ignore him, sliding off my stool and walking over to my storage closet. Hopefully, I still had some boxes in there to replace the ones that’d been damaged. My supply shipment had been delayed, and while I theoretically had enough for the next week, finding more would make life easier. I found an entire flat waiting to be folded. Nice. Randi could work on them tomorrow while I cooked.

Stepping back into the kitchen, I found Brandon still sitting at the work island.

Holding my phone.

“What the hell, Brandon?”

He looked up at me, eyes dark with anger. “Who’s Cooper?”

I raised a brow.

“Seriously? You’re spying on my phone now?”

“It kept buzzing. I wanted to be sure there wasn’t an emergency,” he replied, as if what he’d done were perfectly reasonable. He’d always had a gift for that—making it sound like I was the crazy one, not him.

“Hand it over,” I snapped, holding out my hand. He dropped the phone into it, and I saw the message that’d flashed across the front.

COOPER: I know about what happened with Talia. Sorry doesn’t cut it but at least I can promise it won’t happen again. FYI—I have to head out of town for a couple days. Short term job. Call me

Great, because his crazy girlfriend wasn’t pissed off enough already. Fucking men, always thinking they knew how to solve everything.

“So who is he?” Brandon demanded, the words clipped. I sat down, stretching my neck, because this was officially the day from hell. What could go wrong next? Maybe a meteor would hit us. That’d simplify things.

“He’s my handyman,” I said absently. “He moved into the building about a month ago.”

“Your handyman?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You know, the guy you call when something breaks? He does maintenance around the building. Huge help.”

“And who is he, exactly? How do you know you can trust him? I really wish you’d had me do a background check before you—”

What a smug, self-righteous asshole. The anger and frustration and grief and rage I’d suffered over the past year and a half boiled out and I turned on him.

“Shut the fuck up, Brandon,” I snarled. “Jesus, how fucking stupid are you? I’m not your wife anymore, and I haven’t been for a long time. Our daughter died and you didn’t even bother to show up. Once you pull something like that, it’s all over. You can’t argue with me, you can’t bully me, you can’t do anything, because we aren’t a couple anymore. You don’t exist in my world, got it?”

Brandon gaped at me, and for once he didn’t have a damned thing to say. The phone buzzed again, and I looked down to find another message.

COOPER: I need Darrens number

Fucking men. Always making demands.

“Are you cheating on me with him?” Brandon asked, scowling. I blinked at him. Shit, maybe he really was high.