Shirley Jump - Wedding Vows - I Thee Wed - Back to Mr & Mrs / Reunited - Marriage in a Million / Marrying Her Billionaire Boss

What had she been thinking? That a dress would somehow magically erase the illusions she’d had about their marriage? That wouldn’t happen, no matter how much she might wish it. Melanie had to be realistic, not get wrapped up in a silky fabric and a handful of memories that stubbornly lingered.

In the parking lot, Melanie hugged Kelly and said goodbye, then slipped into her own car and headed back to Cuppa Life, resolved to put Cade from her mind for the rest of the day.

“Hey, Mom! What’d you get?” Emmie handed Cooter his regular blend, stamped his frequent visitor card, then turned to face Melanie as she came around the counter.

“A dress.” Melanie slipped on an apron, then whisked her hair up into a ponytail. Back to regular ol’ Melanie.

“I know that.” Emmie rolled her eyes. “Details, Mom. I need details.”

“Well, it’s knee-length, a kind of burgundy-pink and…” She paused, avoiding Emmie’s inquisitive gaze by busying herself with washing her hands.

Emmie put a fist on her hip. “And what?”

“Well, it’s a little sexy.”

“Way to go, Mom.” Emmie let out a low whistle. “I never would have pegged you for a sexy dress.”

“Hey, I was sexy once.” Put that way, it sounded pretty darn pitiful. When she’d been Emmie’s age, she’d worried about her appearance, spending hours in the mall, poring over fashion magazines, and then trying one outfit after another until she had the perfect one. Since she’d gotten married, she hadn’t let herself go—exactly—she’d simply had other priorities to take up her days. Priorities that didn’t include makeup, curling irons and especially didn’t include sexy dresses.

She thought back to the image of herself in the mirror, the way the skirt swirled around her legs, how every inch of the maroon fabric had accentuated curves lost behind her Cuppa Life apron. Maybe it was time to revamp that priority list.

After all, she was thirty-seven, not dead.

“I bet Dad will love what you bought.” Emmie threw the words out as casually as bread crumbs.

Melanie started restocking the small under-the-counter refrigerator with milk and cream. “I’m not wearing it for him.”

Liar, her mind whispered. She was, too. Because a part of her still craved his sexy smile, that light in his eyes when he looked at her.

“Uh-huh,” Emmie said.

Melanie brushed the thoughts away. Thinking about Cade’s reactions would only send her back down the very road she’d left last year. A road Emmie seemed to be ignoring lately, as if she saw the separation as a phase her parents were going through.

“Emmie,” Melanie said softly, laying a hand on her daughter’s. “Dad and I are getting divorced. Please don’t read anything into a dress.”

Emmie scowled. “You guys are always telling me not to give up, to keep going for what I want. Why is it okay for you to do it?”

“I’m not giving up.”

“What do you call a divorce? Why don’t you two just sit down and talk?”

“We have, sweetheart.” But a little voice inside asked if she’d simply taken the easier road.

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough.” Emmie’s words were sharp with anger.

Melanie sighed. “It’s more complicated than trying harder. Than a conversation.”

Emmie threw up her hands. “I am so sick of this, of going to your apartment, then Dad’s house, and seeing both of you totally miserable. You’ve always told me relationships take work. Well, why don’t you two practice what you preach?” She stalked off to the rest room, ignoring Melanie’s calls for her to come back.

Melanie rubbed at the knot of tension in the back of her neck. Emmie didn’t know the whole story. And there was no way Melanie was going to fill in the details Emmie was missing. Melanie closed her eyes and those very details came flooding back, ending with that day in the hospital. She’d been scared, crying and alone.

Always alone. Because when it came to priorities, Cade’s had always been work.

Emmie’s youthful idealization of the situation made her see it in simple black and white terms. Melanie knew there was far too much gray to sort things out. Even if for a little while today, she’d thought maybe—

Maybe they could.

“You got a real firecracker there,” Cooter said, raising his coffee in the direction Emmie had gone.

Melanie smiled politely. “Yeah.”

“You know, your man trouble reminds me of a story.” Cooter rose and crossed to the one of the bar stools. He ran his hand down the length of his white beard, gearing up.

“Cooter, I—”

“There’s these two old women, real biddies, the kind who sit in the sun and yak the day away.” Cooter looked to Melanie, waiting for her to nod in understanding. “One of ’em, she’s got this dog and it’s moaning. The other says, ‘What’s wrong with your dog?’ The first lady looks at the idiot of a pooch and says, ‘He’s been eatin’ wood chips. Tears up his belly somethin’ fierce.’ Second lady shakes her head. ‘Why would he do that, if it hurts?’ First lady throws up her hands. ‘I dunno. Guess he ain’t gotten smart enough yet to quit.’” Cooter grinned at her, as if he’d just given her the secret to life.

“That’s a…great story,” Melanie said. “I think.”

“It means,” Cooter said, leaning forward, his light blue eyes bright, “you keep doin’ stupid things until they hurt you enough and then you get smart enough to quit.” He gave her a nod, then returned to his coffee and his paper.

Melanie shook her head. Cooter had a habit of dispensing wisdom wrapped in allegories. She wasn’t quite sure if his tidbit today was about her relationship with Emmie—or with Cade. Or heck, the hot plate she’d burned her thumb on earlier today.

The door jingled and Melanie turned, expecting the next influx of college students. Instead Cade stood in the doorway, still dressed in his suit—his fighting clothes, he used to call them—but a little more rumpled than when he’d started his day. His dark blue tie was loosened at the neck of his white button-down shirt, giving him an air of vulnerability. He looked like a little boy trying to escape the confines of his Sunday best.

Then Cade strode forward, with the same comfortable, assured step he’d always had, and any comparisons to preschoolers ended.

Her stomach flipped over, heavy with a desire that she’d thought had long ago disappeared. But no, it was there, just waiting for Cade. His smile. His touch.

“Hi, Melanie.”

Two words and everything within her shuddered to a stop. Damn Cade for still having that power over her. A year apart and a simple glance could still awaken the spark that had first drawn her to him.

A spark, however, wasn’t enough to rebuild—and maintain—the fire they’d needed as adults. If it had, it would have gotten them through the roughest parts, the days when one needed the other, and that call had gone unanswered.

“Do you want some coffee?” Melanie said, getting to her feet and putting the counter’s width between them.

“Sure.” He slid onto one of the bar stools. His face was lined with exhaustion. Melanie’s hand ached to reach out, to touch him and wipe all that away. Despite everything they’d gone through, she still worried about him. Some feelings, she’d found, couldn’t be turned off like a dripping garden hose.

Either way, Cade wouldn’t want her to do that. If there was one thing Cade prided himself on, it was his “can do no matter what” attitude. If only he’d relied on her more, talked more.

She slid a cup of black Kenyan roast across the counter, knowing from all their years together that he wouldn’t want anything fancier. “Here you go. On the house.”