Bowie sighed and finally opened the door. “I’ll be in the diner,” he said to Luke, as if the dog knew which door led to the restaurant. As soon as he shut the door, his dog took his spot behind the steering wheel, watching as his master disappeared into the building.
Rachel waved. Bowie grimaced. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but she put her hand down, and her smile faded; he knew she had. Not that he was mad at her; he was just frustrated by the process of their divorce. They’d had a good life, until she’d wanted children and they could not conceive. She had wanted to try IVF, and he’d been willing until he saw the price tag. They simply couldn’t afford it. Not without taking out a second mortgage on the house and a loan against his business. It wasn’t like there was a guarantee either. If the process didn’t work, they were out the money, in debt, and no baby to show for it. The risk was too much for him. Each step he took toward her now made him thankful he’d never caved. He never wanted to imagine what life would be like without a company to run, more debt than he had now, and a child to care for.
He slipped into the booth and smiled at Peggy, the waitress he’d known his whole life. She brought him coffee, asked Rachel if she was ready to order, and went on to the next table, writing nothing down and never asking what he wanted. She knew. He had the same meal every time he came in. The best part about eating there would come later, when Peggy brought the check. She would hand it to Rachel and walk away. Bowie was a town favorite. Everyone loved him. There was a time when they liked Rachel too. It took the people of Cape Harbor some time to accept her, though. Most of the grumblings through town had been about how Rachel thought she was too good for them. She was from a few towns over and had wanted Bowie to move, news that had spread like wildfire when his mother had mentioned it at her weekly book club years prior. The locals hadn’t taken too kindly to the thought of Bowie leaving on account of his new girlfriend, at the time. She had moved here, and all was good, until she asked for a divorce and the townspeople shunned her again.
The former couple sat across from each other. Rachel rested her hands in her lap while Bowie played with the handle of his ceramic coffee mug, avoiding the large envelope on the table. He sighed heavily, a sign meant to convey to his ex he had other things he needed to take care of. He chanced a look at her. Her eyes were staring at the chipped Formica tabletop. “I’m here,” he said gruffly.
She met his penetrating gaze. Her mouth opened to say something but closed quickly. Bowie cut eye contact and silently cursed his harsh tone. There was something she wanted; otherwise, why would she invite him to breakfast?
“Bad morning?” she asked. He wanted to reply sarcastically, reminding her that since she’d asked for a divorce, nothing had been easy for him. But he held his tongue and sat up straight in the booth.
“You could say that.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled and briefly stared at her lap before she placed her hands on the table and sighed. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here.”
He shrugged. This was the last place he wanted to be. His company was failing, and he needed to focus all his energy there. The woman across from him had already quit on them—on him—and he was ready to move on.
Rachel cleared her throat and forced a smile that went unreturned by Bowie. “Should I cut to the chase?”
“You could say that.”
She leaned forward and placed her hand in the middle of the table. He noticed immediately she was wearing a much larger diamond than the one he had put on her finger years before. His mouth ran dry, and his tongue thickened in his mouth, making it hard for him to swallow. He shouldn’t be angry, but he was. He was livid and seeing red. They weren’t even divorced yet, and she wore a ring from another man.
“Bowie—”
He held his hand up. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. For almost a year, he’d supported her, paid what his lawyer said had to be paid, done what his lawyer told him needed to be done. The counseling they went to, the blame he took because his wife couldn’t get pregnant. The stigma of everyone knowing his marriage failed, all the while she was with someone else.
“How long?” he asked, knowing the question was open ended. He didn’t care what she responded with; he wanted to know if she’d cheated on him.