Page 239 of Accidental Husband

Only, as of right now, it's not mine. I have no stake in his life. Or I won't, as of nine a.m.

Eventually, I move into the kitchen. Make breakfast. And a matcha. Find a thriller to read—one of those books about people treating each other like shit.

It's an effective distraction. I block out the world. Pour myself into the pages.

Even when everything else is shit, books are there.

Books are everything.

They're going to be my only thing if I fuck this up. Someone is going to stand at my funeral (some librarian, I guess) and sayJuliette didn't have a lot of love in her life, but she had her books.

My second matcha helps. The situation is still complete suckage. But between the book and the latte, life is survivable.

I get a third of the way through the book and halfway through a third matcha when the doorbell rings.

"Jules." Griffin knocks. "I know you're in there."

I pull my sweater over my chest reflexively.

"Can we talk?"

My gaze darts to the clock. Shit. It's eight. I need to be dressed. I need to be on my way.

I'm not going to face my soon to be ex-husband like this.

Not in my pajamas.

"Give me a minute." I down another sip of matcha. It's amazing, it really is, but it's so not the time. "I need to get dressed."

"You look fantastic."

I clear my throat. "Stop looking through the window."

"Don't sit in front of it with the blinds open."

"Okay. I won't." I close the blinds.

He chuckles. "I didn't want to do this."

"Do what?"

He moves. Shuffles something. Taps something.

The door handle jiggles. Turns.

Griffin steps into the foyer. Holds up the spare key. The one under the cacti planter. "Not exactly rocket science."

"You, um, I thought you'd use the ladder."

"Didn't think you'd want me climbing into your bedroom right now."

"We're supposed to be at the lawyer's office in an hour." I zip my hoodie. Slide my hands into my pockets. Which does nothing to hide the fact I'm wearing boxers and fuzzy socks on my bottom half.

He's in a suit. He'swearingthat suit.

Fuck, he looks yummy all cleaned up. The fabric covers his tattoos, makes him look like the kind of nice boy you take home to Mom.

Not that I can fool my mom.