Okay. Church basement at 6:30, I type out on my cell phone. My heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing Hunter in just under an hour. Even though he's barely been here for a week, every minute we're not together seems like an eternity.

I shouldn't be thinking about him at all, but here I am, getting butterflies in my stomach just because I haven't seen him since this morning. Something must be really wrong with me. Literally everything else in my life should be a higher priority right now.

My best friend Meg sits at her kitchen table, tapping away on a shiny new MacBook Pro laptop. I stand barefoot at her counter, the wide, cool marble tile feeling luxurious under my feet. The high, white ceilings, tall windows, and modern stainless steel appliances make me feel like I'm on vacation from my regular life. Her home is one of the newest and most beautiful in this town.

Sometimes I get jealous of everything Meg has. A beautiful house, knockout looks, and a rich, smart husband who would never, ever cheat on her.

I dump ingredients into the plastic tumbler of her NutriBullet blender one by one. Bananas, ice, soy milk, cinnamon powder. A dash of nutmeg. It's my famous banana nut smoothie that Meg always asks me to make when I come over. We usually split it, but today it's all for her because the town hall meeting is a potluck, and I don't want to ruin my appetite. I'm bringing a big batch of hot wings that I fried up.

"Oh shit," I mutter. "I forgot to tell Hunter about the potluck." I text him again.

Forgot to tell you, it's a potluck. Try to bring something if you can.

His reply comes just a minute later.

Thanks, great advance notice.

I reply.

You're a SEAL, right? Improvise.

Meg finally stops typing. "Sorry, babe," she says, her voice perky as always. "Had to put out that dumpster fire." Meg works as an assistant to her husband, helping to wrangle clients and do the people work. She's a people person. Her husband, on the other hand… he's a watchmaker. And he's about as interested in managing customers as he is being shot in the face. He's the kind of guy who'd always rather be in his workshop, tinkering with machines. And that's where he probably is right now, down in the basement.

I laugh. "I didn't know there were emergencies in the watch business. I don't know what Trevor would do without you."

Meg rolls her eyes. "These rich customers, a lot of them have nothing better to do than sit and refresh their package tracking all day. I think they go a little stir-crazy."

"Oh my god," I say. "I am so totally guilty of that." I have to admit, there's nothing better than the feeling of a package delivery. Especially those Amazon Prime deliveries on Sundays. Of course, I wouldn't know anything about waiting for a ten-thousand-dollar watch.

I flip the plastic NutriBullet cup over, press it down onto the base, and the motor kicks in. It purees the ingredients, and I pour the creamy banana smoothie into a crystal milkshake-style glass with a blue and yellow striped straw. If there's one thing I've learned over the years about cooking, it's that the presentation matters just as much as the taste.

The truth is, I like food dates at Meg's. Not just because I get to use her brand new, beautiful kitchen, but because it's nice to feel domestic again once in a while. Roger might not have been the right man for me, and my dream might be to open a restaurant, but in some ways I miss everything that comes with being a housewife.

I sit down across from her at the table and she closes her laptop. "So, enough about me. Tell me how you are." She wraps her ruby lips around her straw, and the contrast of her lipstick against her curled blonde hair could be a picture-perfect scene of domestic bliss out of the 1950s. She reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Me, on the other hand… blah.

"Well, I'm about to make a pitch at this town hall meeting tonight."

Meg gulps down a mouthful of smoothie. "Exciting. You mentioned that. For a permit to operate?"

"That comes later. I don't have the cash. I need an investor first."

"Honey," says Meg, pushing her smoothie away and leaning in toward me, "You know all you have to do is ask."

I feel my face turn pink. "Thanks, but I couldn't."

"It's really not a problem. You wouldn't be putting us out at all."

I shake my head no. "I don't want to take handouts or favors. I want to do this the legit way, sink or swim on my own."

Meg nods. "I get it. But let me know if you change your mind."

"Thanks."

She leans in again and gets a devious smile on her face. She stabs at the remainder of her smoothie nervously, like it's a pincushion. "Also," she says, "What's this about a man that I hear?"

I flush pink again, and I pull out my phone to check the time. "I should probably get going," I tell her.

"Uh-uh. It's at the church, right? Such a short walk. You don't have to leave for at least another fifteen minutes." She grins. "Spill the beans."

"I don't know what you mean." I feign ignorance, doing my best to look innocent. But I'm sure my face is as red as a tomato.

"Fine. Then let me be clear," she says. "I heard Hunter Thorne went back to your place." She grins her pearly-white pin-up smile at me.

Dammit. There's no use in denials. Not in a small town like this where gossip spreads like a virus on a cruise ship. By the time I manage to convince Meg it's not true, a dozen more people would have heard about it.

I sigh. "It really wasn't like that."

She gives me a sly smile. "I didn't say it was like anything."

"You implied it."

Meg rolls her eyes. "Just tell me what happened already. Everybody always thought you two would end up together. This is exciting."

I can't help cracking a small smile, but I'm annoyed at myself for it. I should be mad at Hunter for randomly showing up after all these years and having the balls to openly hit on me, in public of all places. But all the women in this town know how hot Hunter is—even the married ones like Meg.

"He's in town for a while, and he needed a place to stay. That's it. He's not here for me. We met by complete accident."

She giggles. "Sure. So what actually happened?"

"Nothing!" I blush. "I told you, he's not here for me. We didn't get together eight years ago, we're not together now, and look what happened to my life. Divorced, and now I form solid blocks of shit out of fluids to sell online."

"You're a liar." She leans back in her chair and throws me another grin. For a minute, I feel like we're both back in college at Springville Tech, before she was married and before I got married to Roger. "You're selling yourself way short, too, but I can only tell you that so many times."

"I wouldn't lie to you. Nothing happened."

"Well," she says, raising an eyebrow, "that's unfortunate."

"You're silly."

"Remind me, Tess, how long has it been since you've gotten laid?"

I know the answer to that all too well. The last time I got laid was by Roger, and when we had sex, it was so clinical, so predictable. Nothing like when Hunter and I used to fuck back in high school. And Hunter looks about ten times better now than he ever did before. And I can't really stop thinking about him. And Meg's interrogation of me isn't helping that situation either.

"Meg, I'm not looking for—"

She cuts me off. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think it would be good for you to get some."

I can't help laughing. "From him?"

Tess frowns. "What do you mean, 'from him?' That man is the hottest thing to come out of Maple Ridge since the Dust Bowl, and you know that. And I'm sure he still has it bad for you."

"I need to focus on myself right now," I say. The last thing I need right now is more heartbreak. That's all he gave me last time.

"You know what I think? I think you should try to let go of the past and just see what happens."

"But with Roger—"

"None of that," says Meg, waving her hand in the air. "Look where you're going, not where you've already been."

"Are you telling me to..."

"Do him?" Meg responds. "Yes. Yes I am."

I blush, and the thought of Hunter Thorne fucking me again makes me get wet between my legs.

"I think he wants to. But I don't know."

Meg cocks an eyebrow. "Come on, Tess. It's been eight years, and you're single now. Live in the moment for once."

"But he's only in town for a couple more weeks, max."

"That's perfect, then," says Meg. "A fling. That's exactly what you need." She adds, "Keep it simple. Keep your expectations in line. That Hunter Thorne is one bad boy."

Yes. Yes he is. And that's exactly what I'm worried about. If I let Hunter Thorne put his hands on me, I don't think I'll be able to keep my expectations in line.

I think I'll want everything. Again.