The letter shook in one hand while I pressed the other to my mouth. Not because I was shocked—this was a long time coming—but because I wanted to whoop with joy. There was only one thing stopping me. I didn't need the kids thinking I was that happy about divorcing their deadbeat father.

"Hallelujah," I whispered between my fingers, my eyes reading that same line again and again.

Letter in hand, I hurried toward the kitchen in my small apartment. I could barely contain my excitement. Thankfully, it didn't take me more than a few hurried steps to get there. I wasn't kidding. My place was small. Two bedrooms. One adult, two kids. I liked to boldly lie to myself and call it cozy.

Although, on nights like this, when a certain someone was here, it didn't feel like that much of a lie. As I rounded the partition that separated the kitchen from my living room, I heard the sizzle of something undoubtedly delicious hitting a hot pan.

My best friend, Sam, was cooking in my kitchen. He was an amazing cook, which was why he was the head chef at Fayoak's best diner, The Honeyed Peach. I looked in the doorway to see him hunched over my stove.

His shoulders and back bulged as he stirred, sautéed, or flambéed—whatever it was, he looked good doing it. I wasn’t a gifted cook, to say the least, but boy did I like watching. I bit down on my lower lip, letting my eyes sweep over his sculpted form. The fluorescent lights gleamed on his smooth, dark skin. He really was perfect.

Gorgeousness aside, I always got a little kick out of seeing him in here. He was tall and built with the sort of muscular body that someone would expect from a guy who turned into a giant bear.

"You poor man," I finally said with a small laugh. "This kitchen just isn't big enough for you. Mm, actually, strike that, the whole world is a little small, ain't it?"

He looked at me from over his shoulder with a soft smile. "I make do."

A speck of flour dotted his dark cheek. Figures. When he was away from The Peach and free to experiment to his heart's content, he got a little too into his cooking. If anyone were to ask me, it was the most gosh darn adorable thing I could think of.

He focused on the stove for a second, gave a pan a little shake and a flip, then looked back over his shoulder at me. He gestured toward me with a flick of his dark brown eyes and a nod of his head. "What you got there?"

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. I suddenly remembered the papers lightly crinkling between my fingers. How had I let that slip my mind in a matter of seconds? Honestly. Rhonda Cheyenne Nielsen, you're a grown-ass woman, you have got to stop getting all goo-goo eyed.

And yet, a second later, I gave Sam the most girlish grin I had as I held up the papers. "I'm officially a divorcée."

The metal spatula Sam was holding clanked against the countertop. In the next moment, he pulled me into an enthusiastic hug, lifting me off my feet. I laughed and flung my arms around his neck, letting the papers scatter to the floor. He spun me around and around, then finally looked me in the eyes with that big, sexy grin of his. He set me back on my feet, his arms still around me.

My eyes moved from his smiling lips to his deep, warm chocolate eyes. The genuine happiness I saw in them made my heart feel light. I loved that he sincerely celebrated the things that made others happy. It was beautiful. Overwhelmed, I darted forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

His entire body froze and I stilled in response. Rhonda, you silly woman, I thought to myself.

Sam drew in a deep breath, then moved, just a little. To my surprise, his lips gently brushed against mine. I brushed mine against his in return. I felt his lips part ever so slightly before a shaky breath escaped.

A moment later, he cupped my cheek and brushed his thumb over my skin. He let his eyes fall shut and dipped his head to kiss me again. Soft and sweet. Exactly the sort of kiss I dreamed he would give me someday. I leaned in closer, my body flush with his. His other hand kneaded at my lower back, urging me closer as he slowly kissed me dizzy.

I let out a soft sigh and, abruptly, Sam pulled back with a quickness that left me stunned. He held my shoulders to keep me from stumbling. The air felt cold without the warmth of his body against mine. I had barely recovered from the shock when I heard the faint rumble of a low growl in Sam's chest followed by a loud knock at my front door.

"Smells like a warlock," he said in a quiet voice, his body tense. He looked grim as he stared in the direction of the front door, even though he couldn't see it from the kitchen.

"No," I whispered. Disbelief made my blood run slow and thick. I swear, if the world so much as dares to do this to me today, of all days . . .

The knock came again—this time louder and more impatient. My heart sank. I knew who it was. There was only one warlock who couldn't wait five damn seconds before he got bent out of shape.

I wordlessly turned away from Sam and stalked toward the front door. The two curious heads of my children peered over the back of the couch. Their bright eyes watched as I made my way to the front door.

"Mommy, the door." Caleb pointed at the door. My eldest was helpful like that. At the wise age of seven, he already seemed to think he had all the answers.

"Thanks, sugar, I've got it."

I curled my fingers around the handle. Did I really want to do this? No, of course not, but I had to. This wasn't a problem that would go away if I ignored it. The last thing I needed was a pissed off warlock waging war on my apartment door. Especially this warlock.

The knocking started again, each pound making my door tremble in its frame. With a deep breath, I yanked open the door. Rage personified twisted the man's face, his fist raised for another brutal attack against my door.

His eyes met mine and the rage was gone in a flash, as if I had imagined it. Had I . . .? His hand dropped to his side and I saw that tentative hope filled his expression, like a man who had just found his long lost love.

"What're you doing here, Jude?"

"Rhonda, sweetheart," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly, "I'm home."

I was in such disbelief that I wanted nothing more than to laugh. What was going on? After three years, I had finally thought this man was in my past. Gone forever. Good riddance. But no. Fate had thrown back her head and laughed heartily at me.

"No, you're not," I bit out under my breath so the children wouldn't overhear. "This stopped being your home when you ran out on us three years ago. In fact, I just got some papers that you might be real interested in."

His hopeful expression faltered. "What do you mean?"

"It's called a marital abandonment, Jude. We're divorced."

The hopeful light in his eyes faded.

"Rhonda, how could you?" he asked in a quiet, pained voice. "I want to make things better between us, but this—"

A gasp cut through the air from behind me. With a sinking heart, I looked over my shoulder to see Caleb leaning over the back of the couch, his eyes wide with wonder and realization. I cursed inwardly. He was four when Jude left and the only one of my children old enough to remember him.

Caleb launched himself up and over the plush sofa backing, skidding across the vinyl floor in his socks. He almost fell in his excitement. After he caught his balance, he ran full-speed toward the door with a giant smile on his face.

"Daddy!"

My sweet baby darted past me and flung his arms around Jude's tailored waist. I was sure that would drive my ex-husband up the wall. He always was a stickler about wrinkles. Much to my surprise, he smiled indulgently at Caleb. Who was this man and what did he do with my ex-husband?

"Why, is that my boy?" Jude pulled my seven-year-old into his arms, his smile growing. "No, surely not. My Caleb wasn't such a man. You're practically an adult."

My son giggled happily. "Mom makes me eat broccoli so I'll get big. It's her fault that I'm growing so much."

"Broccoli? You're so lucky. That's my favorite food. You should be thanking your mother." Jude turned his brimming smile on me and gave me a secretive wink. I couldn't stop myself from smiling in response. This was why Jude and I had two children together, despite him being a tried and true bastard. He was so damn good at laying it on thick.

He released a still beaming Caleb from his arms. There was no way I could have the conversation I needed to have with Jude if my son was here.

"Hey, little man, I need you to take your sister to your room, alright? We adults need to talk shop for a minute." I brushed my fingers over Caleb's soft brown hair.

The confusion that swept into his excited blue eyes—his father's eyes—broke my heart. I wasn't sure what else I could do right now, though. I needed a moment to figure out what the hell Jude was up to. I wouldn't have my children grow up to hate their father because of me. But that didn't mean I liked or trusted the man.

"Well . . ." Caleb looked between his sibling and me, then let out a resigned sigh. "Okay, Mom. I'll do it. But we'll see Dad later, right?"

A thick knot formed in my throat. "We'll see, sugar."

I began to wonder if I had made a mistake by shielding my children from the truth about their father. Some part of me had always entertained the thought that he would come back and at least get to be in his children's lives. Another part of me didn't think it would ever happen. Now that I was facing the possibility, I couldn't help but feel like I had set them up for disappointment. What if Jude just left again?

I waited until Caleb led his little sister into their bedroom and they were safely tucked away before I invited Jude inside. I turned around and saw Sam, who was still standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Wariness and confusion colored his deep brown eyes. I didn't blame him for either. I mouthed a quick, "It's okay." He nodded, despite the frown tugging at his lips, then busied himself in the kitchen.

I moved into the living room with Jude. He took a seat on the couch and loosely crossed his legs, looking as if he was completely at home.

I chose to stand instead of sit, my arms crossed over my chest. Jude quietly studied me while I tried to figure out what I was going to say.

"Your hair is so . . ." Jude tilted his smiling face to the side. "Well, it's different, isn't it? I never pictured you with burgundy hair."

I knew exactly what those words meant: It looks like shit, Rhonda. You should change it. I waited for those words to sting, as they had in the past, but they didn't. I had always tried so hard to please him. Time and time again I failed. Clearly that hadn't changed, but his opinion didn't matter to me anymore.

As hard as it was being on my own, leaving was probably the best thing he had ever done for us. Why did he have to come back? My eyes drifted toward the kitchen where Sam was. Why now? Why when my life was finally moving forward?

"Jude," I began, speaking slowly, "you need to tell me what the hell is going on. What are you doing here?"

His blue eyes flashed with irritation, although it was so subtle that I doubted what I saw. In the next moment, he spread his arms wide, like he expected me to jump right into them and snuggle with him on the couch.

"I'm a free man, finally," he announced as if anticipating fanfare. "We can pick up where we left off."

And where was that exactly . . . when we were screaming at each other? Instead of playing the trumpet and clapping enthusiastically for him, I simply raised a brow. "What're you talking about?"

"Haven't you wondered where I've been for the last three years?"

"You ran off—abandoning your wife and children—leaving me in hot water with the coven. So, frankly," I scrunched up my nose in distaste, "not really."

"Rhonda, you can't honestly think—" With a wounded expression, he pressed a hand right over his heart, like it was ripping apart inside him. "I would never."

The hurt I saw in his expression made my sarcastic smile falter. I felt a funny itch between my shoulders and glanced behind me to see Sam. He was watching Jude from the window in the partition between my living room and kitchen. His expression was even more guarded than usual. I couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

He walked out of the kitchen but kept himself a short distance away. He narrowed his eyes and studied Jude with distrust.

"If you don't mind my asking," Sam spoke in his low, rumbling voice, "what exactly was it that kept you away from your family for three years?"

Jude's expression wavered with confusion as he stared over the back of the couch. He looked back at me with deep hurt in his eyes. In the next moment, he was on his feet. "Who, exactly, are you?"

"Sam. Now, I asked you a question and would appreciate an answer."

Anger flashed in Jude's eyes, but he closed them quickly. He took in a slow, measured breath then exhaled. When he next opened his eyes, he looked embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he said. "It was silly of me to think that things could go back to normal so quickly. I was foolishly hopeful."

I stiffened as Jude reached out to gently take my hand. He lifted it up between us and softly patted the back. Oh, you have got to be kidding me . . .

In a quiet voice, he said, "Before I begin, I want you to know that I don't fault you for not looking for me."

If it wasn't for my children being only a room away, I would've started screaming in his face for daring to say something that stupid. He knew damn well that looking for him wouldn't have done me any good. He had disappeared on purpose. I couldn't find someone that didn't want to be found.

"Jude," I ground out.

"Rhonda, please, you need to know." He looked to the side, his expression sorrowful.

I already knew damn well what happened. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

"After we fought that evening, I went for a drive."

I gave him a blank look. "Uh-huh."

"I was so distraught that I drove for hours and hours." Endless pain filled his eyes, like he forgot that I was there when he left. There had been nothing but venom in his words to me that night.

"I'm sure that's exactly what you did," I said as he stood there, staring tragically off into the distance.

"I ended up across state lines and out of gas. I had to walk to a station." He paused, pressing a hand to his chest as if his heart was hurting. "It was there that a robbery occurred. A violent one. I was shot, but the clerk accidentally identified me as one of those involved. I've been wrongfully imprisoned this whole time."

It took everything in me not to burst into laughter in his face. I bit down on my lip, desperately trying to keep the laughter floodgates in place.

"Why not call?" Sam asked, his words thick with skepticism.

"The place where I was imprisoned was . . ." Jude swallowed deeply, his expression twisting. "I wouldn't have wished it on my worst enemy. I was denied all my basic rights."

I watched with a frown as Sam turned and went down the hallway toward the children's room. I wished he would stay. I had no idea what my ex-husband was doing here, but I had a feeling it couldn't be good. Things never were when he was around. He was already lying through his teeth as it was. False imprisonment, my ass.

I rolled my eyes at him, then flicked them up and down, surveying his outfit. True to form, he was wearing a three-piece tailored suit with a goddamn pocket scarf. "You look pretty good for someone who was imprisoned in some sort of hell for three years."

He couldn't resist smiling, even though he knew good and well that I was being sarcastic. "Thank you, you're too kind," he said with humility. "I wanted to look my best for you. If there's one thing that would make all the horrors I've been through worth it . . . it would be having you back in my life again."

I was so stunned that it took me a moment to even think of a reply. Before I could manage to get a word out, I was surrounded by familiar cologne as Jude pulled me into his arms. The rich, cloying scent made me feel like I was choking. My face was pressed up against the expensive wool of his suit. It took me a moment to get over my shock. When I did, I tried to shove him away, but his arms tightened around me.

How dare he? In a moment of quiet fury, my magic surged through me. A book flew from the nearby shelf and whacked the back of his head.

He jerked back and his eyes met mine. Fury burned brightly in those chilly blue depths as his magic collided with mine. It was like he slammed the door closed on my telekinesis. My magic was there but locked away where I couldn't use it. I knew the feeling well. This wasn't the first time he had used his abilities to shut mine down.

His ability was a rare one. For most, it would be the sort of power they used infrequently, but not him—Jude gleefully used his ability to stop others from using their magic. He gave me a patronizing smile.

"You know that I hate it when you make me do this," he chided softly. "I thought you would be happy to see me. I looked forward to being a family again."

He pulled back then, letting me go. The restraints cinched tight around my powers pulled away, but not before he gave me a look of gentle reproach.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Jude," I spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "but there's nothing between us anymore, and if you disappoint my children, there will be hell to pay."

"Rhonda, I know I've made mistakes, but . . ." he stared at me, looking forlorn, "I wish you could find it in your heart to forgive a broken man."

I folded my arms across my chest, shaking my head. "I forgave you a thousand times before. I've got nothing left for you."

"Then let me repay you a thousand times."

I nearly choked on his words. There was no repaying the things he had done to me. The heartbreak. The years of selfish manipulations. The tears my children had cried for their missing daddy. All the explanations I couldn't give them.

I looked off to the side, clamping down hard on the urge to yell at him. "You should go, Jude."

"But—"

"Go."

"If you insist," came his soft reply, "but know that I still love you deeply. I will make this better."

I wished I could explain to him that abandoning his family for three years, then showing up wearing Italian wool while we crammed into a two-bedroom apartment was an awful start to that plan. Instead, I pointed toward the door and twisted my hand. The doorknob turned on its own and the door slowly swung open.

Jude tsked softly before turning and making his way to the door. When he stepped across the threshold, the door quickly slammed shut behind him. I wanted to collapse on the floor. I wanted to weep. I wanted to scream.

It took everything in me to keep my emotions under wraps until I reached my bedroom and closed the door behind me, resting my head on the wooden surface. Once alone, I took several, trembling deep breaths to get myself under control. Just when I thought everything was going to be perfect.

I clamped down on the thought and all the terrible feelings that welled up with it. I couldn't let Jude do this to me. My children needed me. I took a deep breath and left my room to walk toward the kitchen. I needed the comfort of someone good right now. Someone like Sam.

On instinct, I went to the kitchen, where Sam was usually puttering around. However,  Sam wasn't there. It was then that I remembered he had gone to the kids' room. Before I left, I couldn't help but notice the small table was neatly set with a plate for each of my kids and me. The food was covered with lids and foil so it would stay hot. When did he do that? Where was his plate?

I went back down the hallway to the kids' room. When I opened the door, Caleb looked up from the book he was reading, excited. "Is Daddy still here?"

"No, baby, he had to go."

The disappointment in his expression ripped through me, but I still smiled. I didn't know how I was going to get my kids through whatever Jude had planned unscathed, but I would try my hardest.

"Where's Sam?" I asked.

Caleb pouted and slumped down with his book. "Sam said he had to go, too."

My smile fell. He left. I knew it was probably because of Jude. Sam was a good guy. He would want to give my ex-husband and me some space. But, good Lord, that was the last thing I wanted. He must have slipped out when Jude had me pinned up against his wool suit in that terrible excuse for a hug.

I hadn't wanted Sam to leave. Especially since it meant not getting to say goodbye after that kiss we shared.

"Okay, well," I looked at each the shining faces of my children, "dinner's ready. Wash up first, alright?"

"Yes, Mom. We know." The exasperation in Caleb's voice brought my smile back. There was nothing more taxing to a seven-year-old than being forced to be hygienic. I headed back out into the living room as they filed into the bathroom.

As I stood in the small, quiet room, I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing they were Sam's instead.