Page 2 of Red, White, and You (Merry Little Midlife #3)

With no way of knowing when or even if she’ll show, my chest is a tight knot of anxiety—a rare feeling that I’m not a fan of.

But this woman has always been able to make me feel ; whether pleasure or pain, Brielle Donovan-West heightened all of my senses, amplified every experience.

She’s a tornado, my ex-wife, a force to be reckoned with.

She changes worlds with a look, alters lives with a word.

She turned mine upside down the second she walked into it.

Then she absolutely decimated it the day she left.

I’ve never been the same.

And there’s absolutely no way she’ll show.

The cabin number is way too obvious. Even after all this time apart, choosing Cabin 17 was a dead giveaway, wasn’t it? A glaring neon sign that told her exactly who was responsible for the invitation. Add to that the fact that I gave the camp my last name…

Would knowing that I’m behind this make her want to come… or stay away?

It’s the unknowing that has me unable to sit still. An itch that can’t be scratched.

I groan as I pace the small cabin, scanning the space to make sure I’ve set everything up perfectly.

I check the cabinet in the bathroom again, ensuring—and not for the first time— that I’ve supplied her with all of the things she once loved.

Her favorite face cream from La Mer, assuming she still uses it; a plethora of eye masks; a bottle of makeup remover with the little cotton pads she always had tucked beneath the sink…

A vase of fresh flowers sits on the bathroom counter, peonies in various shades of pink…

Brand new linens hang from every towel rod. The bed has been outfitted with bedding and sheets with price tags that made my eyes bulge…

Little touches and details that now make me question myself.

This was a stupid idea.

She’s not going to come.

If she’s anything like the woman I’ve read about over the years—a workaholic who eats, sleeps, and breathes success in everything she sets out to do—a summer camp for adults is her worst nightmare.

I can only imagine the look on her face when she opened her mail and saw the brochure.

Surprise, undoubtedly, quickly followed by disgust. She probably thought it was a prank, a poor excuse for a joke made by one of her colleagues.

The formidable Brielle Donovan-West taking a week off to play ?

Unheard of.

Jesus, I’m an idiot. Why did I think this would work? She’s not the girl I fell in love with anymore. Chances are, she’s not even the career-driven woman who left me because our differences grew too monumental to conquer.

This Brielle is the CEO of a highly regarded law firm. A cutthroat attorney who has never lost a case.

She’s not going to frolic in the forest .

And sending the invitation anonymously? Fuck me, that’s just creepy. I should have picked up the phone and called. Like a normal, non-creepy person.

“Stupid.” I shake my head and tighten my fists in my hair, then freeze.

She’s going to think I need a haircut.

I should have gotten a haircut.

Growling, I tug at the strands, then try to comb them back into place with my fingers.

Just shy of two decades later and the thought of seeing her again has me feeling like a lovestruck boy, consumed with nerves and doubt I can’t seem to shake.

What if she’s forgotten all about me? Not in the true sense of the word, as people don’t often forget their first love—or first spouse—but what if she moved on? What if she was able to find love and happiness like I was never able to?

Brie could be in a serious relationship, something private that I wouldn’t have been able to find with a simple internet search, and my little invite to spend the week at Camp West isn’t just ridiculous but highly inappropriate.

I groan as I run my hands over my face. I should have shaved. Do I have time?

I glance at my watch as a car rolls to a stop at the base of the exterior stairs. The camp is alive with arrivals today, as it is every Friday afternoon, but this car is right outside this cabin.

My pulse speeds as I peek through the screen door to the sleek, black town car.

Holy shit. She’s here.

It takes me a few beats to move. Shock and fear war with the excitement now blooming in my chest, and I find myself frozen in place.

She came .

When I can finally convince my feet to move, I stride to the door and peer out. An older man with gray hair and a bushy white mustache, dressed in a sharp black suit, opens the back door on the passenger side of the vehicle.

I hold my breath.

One slender leg slides out, then the other, two black high heels planted firmly in the dirt. I smile; only my ex-wife would show up to a campground in the Pocono Mountains wearing designer shoes.

As I wait for her to climb out of the car, seconds tick by slowly. Her driver stands beside the open door, patient and still with his hand extended to help her out, but she doesn’t move.

She’s having second thoughts. Of course she is.

Brie might be as shocked as I am that she’s here.

I’ll give her a few minutes, but if she starts to leave, I’m throwing myself in front of her car.