As I slam the front door behind me, I can’t help but think I should have worn my lucky scarf today. Then, maybe I wouldn’t have run into my cocky ex-boyfriend and made a complete fool of myself. Maybe I should have just gotten a lobotomy instead, then I wouldn’t care if I made a complete fool of myself in front of Ben.

What exactly is it that makes an object lucky?

I haven’t worn my lucky scarf since the day Ben dumped me. Before that day, I was convinced the scarf had magical powers. It was there for our first kiss, the first time he fingered me, and the first time he told me he loved me. It wasn’t there when I lost my virginity to him, but that was because our first time didn’t go quite as planned. Nevertheless, I still believed in the power of the scarf. , I suspect it would make a better noose than lucky charm.

“Hey, possum. Do you think Nelly is the father of St. Louis rap?” my dad calls out to me as I round the banister and start my way up the stairs. “Honey, are you okay?”

I continue toward the second floor, passing Mason and Gracie’s empty bedrooms on my way. My stomach lurches as I recall my mother’s words. “Mason said he made up with Ben a couple days ago. Ben is helping him with the court case…”

Why did I give Mason that stupid business card? I sigh as I hang my purse on the white wrought iron coat tree just inside my bedroom door. Closing the door behind me, I lie down on the white and gray striped comforter and close my eyes. I gave Mason the card because I love my brother and I want him to be happy. And I know nothing would make him happier than getting custody of Gracie.

A lump forms in my throat as a knock comes at the door. “I don’t want to talk!”

The door opens and my mom enters slowly, her tanned skin always looking more pronounced against the bright-white minimalist color scheme in my bedroom. “Sweetheart, I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Did something happen with Tyler? Do I need to call Christine and ask her to speak to him?”

I can’t help but laugh at this. “Really, Mom? You don’t think you’re already a little too involved in my love life. It wasn’t enough for you to play matchmaker with me and Tyler. Now you want to play mediator while cozying up to my devil of an ex?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Charlotte Renee Winters, I don’t care how old or mature you think you are, you are not allowed to speak to me like that. I have been very patient with you for the past three years as you’ve tried to get your business off the ground.”

I spring off the bed to face her. “Get my business off the ground? My business was doing fine until this last year. Do you think I want to live with my parents? I wouldn’t have to live here if I could afford to get my own place. And I could afford to get a place in this overpriced shit-hole of a town if I had a degree.” I look her dead in the eye, my face burning hot with anger. “It’s Ben’s fault I don’t have a degree, yet you have no problem forgiving him. How could you?”

Her shoulders slump as she lets out a heavy sigh. “Charley, how many times have you spoken to Ben since you broke up?”

“You mean, since he dumped me in front of millions of people?”

She closes her eyes, probably to keep from rolling them. “Yes, how many times have you spoken?”

“You know the answer. Zero times, unless you count the night he showed up last week, the time he followed me to the beach, and five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes ago?” she replies, cocking her thin eyebrow again.

I shake my head as I sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he and Tyler had words in front of the house.”

My mom’s hazel eyes widen. “What happened? Did they fight? Is that why you’re upset?”

“Settle down, Mom. Nothing happened, thanks to Ben’s bodyguard.”

She looks confused now. “Then, why are you so upset?”

“Because,” I shoot back, stopping to take a breath as I realize I’m becoming impatient again. “Because Tyler got upset and left. He called me… He called me damaged goods. Now it’s over with Tyler and it’s Ben’s fault…as usual.”

My mom’s brow crinkles with worry and she takes a seat next to me. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear that. But weren’t you the one who told me you didn’t think you and Tyler would ever be more than friends?”

I let out a hoarse laugh. “You’re as bad as Ben. You never forget anything I say.”

She wraps a slender arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. I’ll let you have some time to yourself. Text Michelle or Allie or something to take your mind off this stuff. I’ll head on over to Frank’s and tell him that we’ll have to do the usual Fourth of July cookout alone this year.”

My shoulders slump. “No, Mom, you can’t do that. It’s not Frank’s fault his son is a dolt. I’ll just stay in my room. I have some photos to retouch, anyways. Just…bring me up a plate later?”

“You shouldn’t have to stay cooped up in here on Independence Day. That’s not what this day is about.”

I laugh again. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t revolt. I swear I’ll be fine. You guys go ahead and have your barbecue. I’ll text Michelle and maybe I’ll even head over there before she heads to her aunt’s house. No big deal.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, the corners of her mouth turning down in sympathy.

I nod fervently. “I’m positive. In fact, do you need me to help with any of the cooking?”

She smiles. “I’d love some help with the pasta salad. You’re so much better at making the dressing than I am.”

“Of course,” I reply, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

She kisses my cheek and stands from the bed. “You’re entitled to a bit of drama considering the extenuating circumstances. And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about Mason and Ben reconciling yesterday. We just…didn’t know how you would react.”

“I don’t want to talk about Ben.”

She flashes me a tight smile. “I know. All I’ll say is that… Well, things aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes, people hurt us when they try to help us…in their own way.”

I swallow an angry retort. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be down in a sec. Just gotta text Michelle.”

As soon as my mom closes the bedroom door behind her, I pull my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text.

Michelle doesn’t respond right away, so of course I immediately start to panic.

I stare at the text for a good five minutes before I resign myself to the fact that I’ll have to talk to Michelle when I meet her and Allie for lunch in San Francisco tomorrow. I don’t want to put a damper on her Independence Day celebrations with her family.

Through the kitchen window, I watch my parents arranging patio furniture on the back deck while I whisk my homemade Italian dressing for the pasta salad. For some reason, the oil and vinegar are refusing to emulsify. I hug the glass bowl against my belly as I whisk like a maniac with my right hand. I’m fairly certain my forearm is about to fall off when a voice startles me out of my whisking trance and I drop the bowl on the slate floor.

“You’re cooking?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shriek at Ben a millisecond before Mason walks in behind him with Gracie in his arms and a huge smile on his face. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to curse in front of her.”

Mason laughs. “S’all good. Where’s Pops?” he asks, thinking twice about setting Gracie down when he sees the broken glass on the floor.

“I’ll help you clean that,” Ben says, reaching for the roll of paper towels on the counter.

“Don’t touch that!” I warn him. “I don’t need your help.”

Mason and Ben exchange a look before Mason nods toward the sliding glass door. “We’ll be outside. I have to talk to Dad.”

I tear about a dozen sheets off the roll of paper towels and squat down to gather all the shards of glass into a soupy, vinegary pile. “I thought he was dropping her off. Why is Gracie with him?” I ask aloud. “Never mind. I’m not talking to you.”

Ben laughs as he opens the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink and tugs the pull-out waste bin forward, like he fucking lives here. “The lawyer I referred him to told him what to say when he saw his ex and it worked. Something about how he has the right to request supervised visits or something like that, and I guess her boyfriend is on parole or something, so they don’t want the po-po around,” he says while tossing the largest shards of glass into the bin. “She let him bring Gracie back.”

“Why are you doing this?” I say as he squats next to me.

He shrugs as he reaches forward to grab the wad of soiled paper towels from my hands. “I’m just trying to help.”

I yank the crumpled mess back and yelp when I realize I’ve squeezed a shard of glass into the palm of my hand. “Shit!”

“What happened? Let me see.”

“Stop it,” I mutter, making a beeline for the kitchen sink to run the water over it.

“Careful or you’ll push it farther in,” he warns as he stands arm-to-arm with me, completely ignoring the double-entendre and my pleas for him to leave me alone.

I hold my hand close to my face to get a better look at it, and I immediately spot the shimmering splinter of glass stuck in the crease of my palm. “I need tweezers.” I try to turn around, but I bump into Ben’s solidness. “Can you…?”

He chuckles as he steps back. “Go ahead. I’ll clean this up.”

I roll my eyes then head upstairs to grab the tweezers out of the top drawer of my vanity. I finish pulling the tiny splinter from my hand and turn off the light on my mirror just as I see Ben’s reflection appear in the doorway.

“What did you do with all the pictures of us that used to paper these walls?” he asks as he steps inside without asking permission.

“Burned them in a bonfire,” I reply coolly.

He smiles. “Were you dancing around the fire naked while cursing the day I was born?”

I stare at him with a deadpan expression, completely unamused with his attempt to make light of how angry I must have been after the breakup.

“I can’t believe you were cooking,” he says, still smiling as he stealthily closes the bedroom door behind him. “You used to survive on Alberto’s.”

I spin around in my swivel vanity stool. “They tore down Alberto’s,” I reply, standing up and heading for the closet so I can pick out another shirt now that the one I’m wearing smells like my failed salad dressing.

Ben follows closely behind me. “I guess Alberto is greasing buttholes in heaven now. I’m sorry for your loss.” He leans in and sniffs the back of my neck. “God, I miss that scent.”

“What scent? My salad dressing or my Alberto farts?”

His deep laughter resonates in the shell of my ear, making the hairs on my scalp prickle. “Man, I’ve missed that wicked sense of humor.”

I step to the side to put some distance between us, ignoring the way my body responds to him without my permission: mouth dry, heart racing, thoughts fuzzy, pulsing ache between my legs. “I have to change.”

“Go ahead.” He chuckles when I shoot him an angry glare. “I’ve seen you naked a billion times. I saw you in a bikini just last week. Why are you acting shy now? Are you wearing your laundry-day bra?”

I roll my eyes as I peel off my baby-pink high-neck tank top, revealing my strapless nude bra underneath. Tossing it behind me, I yank another tank top off a hanger and swiftly pull it on.

“That was way too fast,” he remarks as he watches me tuck the loose tank top into my cutoff jean shorts. “You should do it again, but slower this time.”

I tilt my head and stare blankly at him.

“Where’s all your equipment?” he asks, making no attempt to get out of my way.

“In my mom’s old office. It’s my headquarters now.”

“Is she still consulting for the sheriff’s office?”

I cock an eyebrow at his uncanny ability to remember inconsequential details. “Occasionally.”

He seems to consider this news for a moment, then he shakes his head as if he’s dislodging an unwanted thought. “So much has changed… Hey, remember how many times you changed in the car during that four-hour road trip to McWay Falls?”

I shake my head. “This isn’t working, Ben.”

“Remember how, on the way back, you fell asleep in the passenger seat and pretended to still be sleeping when I slid my hand down the front of your pants.”

“Stop.”

“I remember that tiny smile on your face,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I wanted to laugh so bad, but I held it in until you came. Because that’s what a gentleman does for his lady.”

I can hardly breathe with him this close to me, but the anger pushes the words out. “Yeah, because only a gentleman would break up with his lady in front of millions of people. A real saint, you are.”

“You know I love it when you talk like Yoda,” he replies with a dangerously sexy grin.

I’m stunned into silence as I have flashbacks of all the times I used to get so tongue-tied around him, I would start talking like Yoda from Star Wars. And how Ben would never let it go, telling me how much it turned him on to know how I couldn’t control how attracted I was to him. Sometimes, he’d try to see what it took to get me to talk like Yoda. Like a devious experiment in sexual attraction that always seemed to end with us fucking like bunnies.

“You,” I begin, trying to get my bearings. “You…asked Becca Kingsley to marry you.”

He rolls his eyes and I want to punch him in the crotch. “It was a publicity stunt.”

“A publicity stunt?” I shriek. “God, you’re more despicable than I thought.”

He bristles at this accusation. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to believe me when I say that none of that shit with Becca matters, because Becca doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered to me. Everything I did, I did to protect you.” He reaches up brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Your mind, your body, your heart… Your privacy.” He smiles as his eyes lock on my lips. “Your smart mouth…they all exist because I protected you. And they all still belong to me.”

I swallow hard as I press my hand into his chest, preparing to push him away. “Still as cocky as ever, I see.”

“Oh, yeah. Talk Yoda to me, baby.”

He knows he has me exactly where he wants me, which is deeply under his spell. He lays his hand over mine and moves it over the left side of his chest, so I can feel the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat.

I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”

“There was a brief time where I began to question whether I was better off,” he begins, not letting go of my hand. “I’d think ‘Maybe I should just accept my new life without Charley.’ I’ve gotten everything else I ever wanted. Maybe it was time to let go.”

I lick my lips. “When was that?”

“I think that was the period of time between when you just called me despicable and right now.”

My gaze snaps up to meet his. “Why?”

“Why what?” he replies with a chuckle.

“Why can’t you just go home and let me hate you?”

Ben pulls me into his arms and my brain is telling me to push him away again, but my heart and my body are totally blissed out. I actually think his arms might be the only thing keeping me upright. I could probably fall asleep standing up in this position. I haven’t felt so comfortable in years.

“Where’s your lucky scarf?” he murmurs, and I’m surprised by the sudden irrational jealousy I feel toward a scarf.

I push him away. “I burned it.”

“You what?” he laughs. “Are you serious? How could you?”

I glare at him. “What do you care? It’s just a dumb scarf.”

“A dumb scarf?” he replies, his eyes wide with incredulity. “And, yeah, I care about that scarf. I love everything about you, including that dumb scarf. I can’t believe you burned it.”

I roll my eyes to disguise the giddiness bubbling inside me. “I didn’t burn it. It’s in the closet.” I reach in and yank it off a hook, then hand it to him. “You can keep it if it means that much to you.”

He rubs his hands over the soft knit fabric and smiles as he brings it to his nose. “It smells like you,” he says, then he laughs when he sees my expression. “What?”

“What are you doing, Ben?”

He glances down at the scarf in his hands, almost as if he’s waking from a dream, but he doesn’t give it back to me. “There are so many things I want to tell you.”

“Well, what’s stopping you? I’m right here. I’ve been right here for three fucking years,” I say, my voice cracking on the last few syllables.

His face is a mask of anguish as he looks down at me. “I wish I could. But there are things I can’t tell you. Important reasons why I can’t tell you. Very important reasons.”

“Why? Do you realize how many times I’ve gone over and over this in my head trying to figure out what I did wrong?”

His expression turns fierce. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then, why can’t you tell me? What could you possibly confess that would be worse than all the horrible things you’ve already done, and all the shit I’ve had to imagine.”

His eyes are locked on mine, almost as if he’s willing me to try to guess. “I can’t. Believe me, I wish I could tell you everything. Please… Just know that I’m working on fixing this. Just…please be with me.”

“I was patient with you, Ben. I was patient while you traveled the world and racked up rumors of infidelity. I believed you when you denied those rumors. I was patient with you all the times I needed you and you couldn’t be there because you were halfway around the world. I was more patient with you than you deserved. And it got me dumped on the internet in front of millions of people.” I grab the scarf to take it from him, but he doesn’t let go. “You had three years to fix this. I’m done being patient with you.”

He loops the scarf around the back of my neck. “What is this scarf made of?”

“I’m being serious, Ben. You need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, but he holds my gaze as he holds his ground. “This scarf was there the first time I kissed you,” he says, glancing at my mouth. “And it was there when I broke your heart. I know it’s made of cashmere, and you know I used to call you my cashmere kitten. This scarf is a piece of history, which is why you held onto it. And if you think I’m going to let you or me throw away our history, you’re wrong. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make this right.”

He pulls the scarf tighter and closes his eyes as he leans in to kiss me, but I slip out of his cashmere trap.

“I always hated history,” I say, cocking an eyebrow.

He shakes his head and looks around the room. “If I scrape off this white paint, will I find the blue walls I painted for you?”

I shrug. “If you cut me, do I not bleed?”

He chuckles. “Still as dramatic as ever.”

“You should leave,” I say yanking my scarf out of his hand and hugging it against my abdomen as I take a seat on the bed. “We’re done, Ben,” I say, wincing as I speak my next words, “I don’t love you anymore.”

He stares at me for a while then shakes his head.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t pull that on me. Why are you shaking your head? What are you thinking?” I continue pushing.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” he begins. “I’m thinking I wish I’d never met you.”

I nod as if I expected this, but I really just can’t think of any other way to hide the fact that I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the chest.

He takes a few paces toward me. “I wish I’d never met you, because then I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you and I wouldn’t have spent six years learning you. And I wouldn’t know that you wince whenever you tell a lie.” He glances at the scarf in my arms. “If I didn’t know you so well, I wouldn’t have to wonder why you’re pretending not to love me. And I wouldn’t have to know that I’m the reason… I made you this way, and it kills me that I don’t know if I can unmake the mess I’ve made.”

I shoot him the same blank look I gave him earlier and he’s the one wincing now. Taking a deep breath, I stand and head for the door.

I pull it wide open and straighten my posture. “You didn’t make me this way, Ben,” I say, motioning for him to kindly exit my room. “And you should really stop listening to all the hype. You’re not as important as you think you are.”

His eyebrows shoot up for a brief moment as a sardonic smile spreads across his face. “I deserve that,” he replies, nodding as he walks toward the door, stopping when he’s next to me so he can lean in and whisper, “And you deserve the truth. I’ll give it to you… when you remove that giant stick out of that gorgeous ass.”

I gasp as he lands a light swat on my backside. “God, you’re such a jerk.”

He laughs as I shove him out of my bedroom. “But I’m your jerk, baby,” he says, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs. “And you’ll always be mine.”

I close the door behind me, so I don’t have to watch him leave. Leaning against the door, I shake my head in dismay as I try to forget how good Ben looks and smells and kisses and fucks.

I bring the scarf to my nose and inhale the faint scent of him. Cedar and sunshine. Letting out a huge sigh, I toss the scarf onto my bed. I am in deep, deep trouble.