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The second surpriseof the day had been less startling. She’d barely finished her call with her mother when a hiss from Willoughby was followed by a knock on her apartment door. The tom stood up and stretched, ready for the intruder.

“My hero,” she gave him a chin scratch, as much pacifying him as praising, and he meowed something distinctly profane when she opened the door. She wanted to cuss herself when she saw Timothy in all his finery, diamond cufflinks sparkling in the early morning sun, the angle of the rays coming from the window hitting them just right.

He gave her his most charming smile that wavered a bit as he took her in.

“Something wrong with my face, Timothy?” She let him pass and closed the door behind him with a quiet click. Willoughby did not care for loud noises.

As she passed through the living room to the little breakfast nook that held his treats, the tension between the males in the room was palpable. Timothy looked agape at the immense pillow on the couch, clearly demarking the position of the cat in the household, and his expression only intensified when Magdalene brought Willoughby a morsel before snapping her fingers and pointing towards the bedroom.

He gently took the offering out of her fingers and trotted where Magdalene had indicated, another massive pillow awaiting him by her bed. Still, he took a rather accurate swipe at Timothy’s ankle as he passed him, all the while gingerly carrying his well-deserved delicacy in his mouth.

Magdalene mentally high-fived him. Timothy really should have known better than to show up at 7:00AM on the day she had the entire world in her hair.

Regardless, for spectacle value alone, this was quite entertaining as her ex-husband yelped and jumped, trying to avoid sharp claws, and Willoughby—rather proud of his efforts—demonstratively slowed his steps further as he made a theatrical exit.

“That cat is a menace!” Timothy made a production of checking his leg, but Magdalene was no longer interested. Her mental to-do list was a mile long, and she had business to attend to.

“Timothy, are you here to complain about my cat?”

“Your cat? You hate cats!” His face arranged itself into a rather comical expression, eyes bulging and mouth open, as his fingers came away with no blood from his ankle. Shame. Sir Willoughby must have intended to scare rather than maim.

“Timothy…” She sighed, her thoughts being pulled in twenty different directions by the enormity of the day and by what had already transpired earlier.

“Magdalene…” He evidently wanted to argue, but instead he got closer, and to her surprise—and damn, why did those just keep on coming?—ran his thumb over her cheek. She recoiled, and the hurt on his face almost made her regret it. Almost.

Shaking her head, she scowled at him.

“I’m sorry, I just…” His voice sounded adequately apologetic, and she softened her own stance just a little. “You just… You had a spark in your eyes when you opened the door. I missed seeing it. Seeing you like this.”

Oh, that must have been the expression she’d greeted him with, and he perhaps thought she was happy to see him instead of still reliving her conversation with her mother. She sighed, but he was on a roll, her input obviously not necessary. “I miss you. I can’t help it. I miss the girl who was bathed in sunshine that you were when we were married—”

They’d been together for ten years, and it dawned on Magdalene how little he understood her. Oh, he knew her moods and quirks, her needs and idiosyncrasies. But he didn’t understand her at her core. And despite only knowing her for mere months, Sam did. And of all the wonders that were taking place before her today, that was the biggest one. And by far, the brightest.

“Timothy, I have no idea what in the world you’re even talking about. I was never a sunshine kind of person.”

“You were to me!” He actually stomped his Santoni-shod foot, and she wanted to cringe. Honestly, he was a spoiled boy when she’d met him, and he was still that same spoiled boy decades later, no matter how expensive his shoes were now.

As if echoing her thoughts, he followed the direction of her gaze and smiled in self-deprecation. Well, he was pampered; he wasn’t an idiot.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m acting like a total fool. I apologize for all of it, and it’s a very important day for you. Half of Boston is here already, and I imagine more will join. I wasn’t going to say anything, but when you had that expression on your face earlier, I just… The memories of you are so sharp, Magdalene, they’re slicing at my skin.”

He actually rubbed at his neck, and she bit her lip to try to avoid laughing in his face. He must have read some poetry. Or a self-help manual for ditched, cheating ex-husbands. Such fervor. It was comical, really. So instead of laughing, she did what she always resorted to when he was being a total drama king.

She sidestepped him and reached for the nape of his neck, tugging on the collar of his shirt and the small piece of white material that was clearly bothering him, since he’d been scratching there ever since he’d come in.

“It’s just the tag, Timothy. Slicing at your skin. No need for all this melodrama.”

He looked at her with the shocked expression of someone not used to being mocked, his mouth agape once more. But after a few seconds, he just grinned and, in that smile, Magdalene again recognized the man she’d chosen to marry. Young and carefree, and yes, spoiled and arrogant, but also kind and funny and a little insecure.

Perhaps it was that insecurity that had ultimately done them in, since she’d dived into her own life, and he never quite could accept not being central to her existence.

Yet there was peace in the sadness. As she stepped to the window overlooking the busy green expanse of the quad, Magdalene felt vulnerable and too damn melancholy, only to have her breath catch when she saw Sam stride along in the distance right behind Lily and Amanda as they were frolicking through the grass. Magdalene bit her lip. The dark, tight-fitting pant suit hugged all those sharp and lean angles and muscles and made her mouth water.

“Whereareyou looking for love, Magdalene?”

What an odd question. And his tone was grave, so unlike anything she had heard from him lately. She’d barely managed to stop herself from jumping a foot in the air, but only through sheer force of will was she able to deny Timothy the satisfaction of seeing her startled. But he wasn’t angry. Neither did he appear to be trying to trap her into a confession. As she looked at his profile, chiseled and so well-known to her, every line, every expression familiar, she recognized a sadness that was reflected within her own heart that lived in those features now.