Reaching to the nightstand for my phone, I’m startled to find it’s ten in the morning. Later than I’ve slept in years. My eyes adjust to the wan light filtering through the gauzy curtains of the huge bedroom.

Where’s Rafa? I look around.

I sniff deep. Ahh. He must be downstairs, judging by the bacon smell. I smile and stretch. He still loves bacon. I climb out of bed and scratch my scalp, wondering if I should pull it back in a ponytail or go long and wild. It will have to be long and wild, because my hair ties are somewhere in my purse, which is probably downstairs where I left it. Really, my hair’s the last thing that matters, because I’m achy and groggy and sex-sated. My hand feels around at the back of my head and tugs a giant, matted tangle.

My stomach rumbles like a thunderstorm, and I take another big whiff of the bacon.

My eyes go to one of Rafa’s T-shirts that sits on the bureau, the one he wore last night. I pick it up and sniff his unique, familiar scent. It makes me swoon a little. I slip it on and open a drawer, searching for his boxers. There they are, in the bureau, on the top right. I laugh out loud. He’s so predictable.

In many ways, things haven’t changed.

Last night, it felt normal to sleep in his arms. Too normal. And the nightmare. A pit of heaviness forms in my stomach when I think of it. I’d assumed he wouldn’t have the bad dreams anymore, that having lots of money would have somehow reassured him, quelled his fears, soothed his soul.

Rafa had never talked much about the nightmares. It was as if he was incapable of sharing his inner self with anyone. He held everything inside. Sex had been his way of communicating with me, and now that we’re older, he’s no different.

Take this morning. Sometime before the sun came up, we’d been spooning and dozing. I’d wrapped his arm around my chest and folded his hand over my breast. Rafa had responded with an erection nestled near the small of my back, and we’d ended an hour later, with me on top, panting and sweating, and him gripping my hips and grinding me closer. After, we’d cuddled for thirty seconds, then he’d shot out of bed, muttering something about checking emails. I’d collapsed back to sleep.

I can’t expect him to be the tender boy I once knew. That’s ridiculous after everything he’s been through. Everything he’s accomplished. And I’m no longer the young woman exploring her sexuality. I know what I need, and I’m going to take it over the next month.

Then move on.

Taking a deep breath, I find my way to the kitchen, getting lost only once in the huge house and finding myself in the laundry room. I’m barefoot and in his too-big clothes. I look a wreck but don’t care. He’s seen me at my worst, and today is far from that. Trying to act nonchalant, I step into the kitchen.

Rafael is sipping his coffee near the stove. He takes one look at me and laughs so hard that a tiny bit of liquid leaks out of his nose. Gasping, he leans over the sink and wipes his face with a paper towel.

I dissolve into giggles and drape my body over the counter.

“Your hair,” he gasps. “Didn’t you brush it?”

“Nope. Do you care? Are you going to enact morning grooming standards for me as part of our deal?”

“No. But only because I know you got that messy hair because of me.” He kisses the top of my head.

I move to the kitchen table and sit, grinning.

“Are you going to serve me breakfast or do I have to get my own food?”

“I would be honored to serve my beautiful, crazy-haired girl.” With an exaggerated flourish, he sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “Scrambled. As you like them, Señorita Lavoie.”

“You remember my egg preference, Señor Menendez. I’m impressed.”

If he’s trying to charm me, it’s almost working. Food always puts me in a good mood, and he knows it. And he’s remembering all the little details, like how I prefer my eggs well-scrambled. I need to stay strong and not succumb to his spell. He’s leaving in a month.

I pick up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon and take a huge bite. I can’t forget that this is only temporary. Only sex. Really, really amazing sex.

And bacon. That man is great with bacon.

Many hours later, after I’d gone to the market for groceries—Rafa says he wants me to cook my signature Southern dishes—I’m humming as I move around the big kitchen. I’ve decided to do a honey-bourbon ham for dinner, something I haven’t cooked in years, not since I was trying to impress Jared in the early days of our relationship. It’s an ambitious recipe, but I’m wired and excited to cook.

Rafa is in the dining room, sitting before two laptops and bunch of papers at the long table. The calm bliss of the domestic scene isn’t lost on me.

This is how we were supposed to be.

I won’t tell him, but I’m suddenly wildly happy in this moment, happier than I’ve been in a long while.

As I walk barefoot to the dining room to ask which wine he prefers with our meal, I can hear him talking on the phone. Something tells me to pause before I enter the room, and I stand in the hall, hidden from view.

“Yeah, it’s okay here. A little boring. Not like Miami. But it’s cool. I’m enjoying myself.”

My stomach flip-flops. St. Augustine isn’t Miami, that’s for sure. We’re five hours and worlds apart. But why does he have say it in that tone of voice?

Or does he mean me? Am I boring?

“Okay, thanks. Give a big, big kiss to Sarita, okay? I would liked to have spent time with her. But oh well. I’m stuck here. I’ll see you Monday. You have the address for the paper?”

I turn and shuffle back into the kitchen, shaking. Stuck? And who the hell is Sarita? Whatever transpired between me and Rafa overnight obviously hasn’t affected him the way it has me.

Maybe I should leave. Just slip out the back door and walk home. It’s not too far.

Just then, Rafa strolls in, smiling. “God, I love ham. Smells delicious, querida.”

I open and close several drawers with explosive bangs, hunting for a corkscrew. When I find one, I hand it and a bottle of Rioja to Rafael. I clear my throat.

“I heard you say that you were bored in St. Augustine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Listening to my phone calls. Charming.”

“Whatever. You said it.”

“I said it was small and boring compared to Miami. It is. That’s not bad, it’s just a fact.”

I make a snorting noise with my nose. “I also heard you send kisses to a woman. Girlfriend?”

He eases the cork out of the wine, and it whispers a pop. “For the third time, I’m single. I was telling my vice president to say hello to his sister for me. She’s given a lot of money and time to my charity in Miami. He’s coming here on Monday to go through the financials of the paper. You should be grateful.”

I take two wine glasses out of a cabinet. “Why are you doing this, Rafael?”

He rakes his thumb across his beautiful bottom lip. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”

“You. Me. Now.”

He doesn’t answer.

I step closer to him and shake my head. “You have an edge to you that you didn’t have when we were in college. Sometimes when you look at me, you seem to be consumed with anger. You never used to be that way. Where did you go? Where’s the sweet guy who used to beg me to whisper poetry in his ear? Where’s the guy who thought I was interesting and not boring?”

“He disappeared a long time ago, Justine.” Rafa bites his lip and pours wine into the glasses. I know he’s nervous because he’s avoiding my gaze. “And I never said you were boring. You’re far from boring.”

“Whatever. Why do you want to punish me for what happened between us? Why did you say that last night?”

Again, silence. I rub the back of my neck, then undo my ponytail and retie my hair again. It’s one of my nervous tics.

“If you’re here for revenge or for anything other than to help me and the paper, stop. Go back to Miami. I don’t need your drama.”

He raises the wine glass to his nose and inhales. “This is good wine. Have a sip.”

I groan. “Don’t change the fucking subject. You should go back home to Miami.”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, which only pisses me off more. “I can’t do that, Justine.”

“Why? We haven’t made any announcements in the paper yet. Our deal isn’t public. You can leave today or tomorrow, and we can resume our lives. I think I’d rather have the paper fail than be with you for a month.”

He appears more amused and snarky as I continue to talk. Jerk. Then he smiles. “Would you? I think you want to save your newspaper and will go to any lengths to do so.”

I narrow my eyes and feel the blood surging through my body. “You know that money means nothing to me and that if I wasn’t in an impossible situation, I would have never called any private equity group, much less yours.”

He laughs, and my chest tightens because the sound is so evil. He’s a different man than the one I knew. What the hell is going on here?

“I can’t leave now. Not after I’ve kissed you and touched you and slept next to you. I need to do this, for me.”

I soften my tense shoulders as I stand in front of him, resting my hands on his crossed arms. “For you? Or for us?”

He shakes his head. “For me. I need to have my fill of you. I need to exorcise you from my memory.”

“Exorcise. Like you’re possessed by me? Like I’m a demon?”

He pauses, licking his bottom lip. “Actually, yes. That’s a good way of putting it. You are a demon, Justine.”

“Don’t be melodramatic. I think you still love me.” I take a long sip of my wine. Inside I’m shaking out of sadness and fear.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there and looks tormented. Lost, even.

“You do,” I breathe. “I know you’re hiding your emotions because that’s what you do. I felt your love in the way you held me last night, all night. You wouldn’t let me go. You asked me where I was going when I went to the bathroom. I felt your love when you entered me and fucked me and when you kissed me on my forehead this morning.”

He sets his wine down and throws his hands in the air. “Even if I do, how could I allow myself to love you again? How will I know that you wouldn’t walk out on me and break my heart all over?”

We drink in silence, and my voice cuts through the uncomfortable tension.

“How many women have you loved since we broke up, Rafael?”