Until Cece (Happily Ever Alpha World)

She clears her throat. “I have nothing to report… until after business hours,” she says, and finally she peeks at me briefly before quickly grabbing up the plates and putting them on her tray then hurrying away.

There is no holding back the grin that splits my face, and I barely refrain from throwing my fist in the air and whooping like I just won the lottery.

And now I just have to wait until after we close to hear what she has to say before I put my plans for seduction into action.

All while fighting back the guilt of not being 100 percent honest with the woman of my dreams.

11

Cece

This afternoon, I left my lawyer’s office with her promise that everything was in place and that Mike would be served the divorce papers by Monday afternoon. The moment my signature was scrawled across the final line, it’s like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders and I could breathe for the first time in months.

There was so much more relief than just finally taking a major step in the direction of my future. It was shedding all the frustrations and irking annoyances from the past decade of marriage that I swept under the rug to keep the peace in our house. It was all the grinning and bearing it when I was forced to think and act a certain way just because that’s what was expected of me as the wife of a Willimson. It was all the compromises I was forced to make that I was told was all a part of being in a relationship, when really it was all sacrifices on my part, never a happy medium.

I felt like a brand-new woman, and tonight, now that I’m legally separated and there’s no going back, I plan to celebrate with the man I 100 percent see myself moving forward with.

I’ve fought with myself back and forth about starting anything with Winston so soon, worried about the dreaded rebound after coming out of a long-term relationship. I’ve read countless articles on healing and moving on with your life after divorce. I’ve saved pins on a private board that range in everything from “The fastest way to get over a man is to get under a new one” to “There’s no need to rush. If something is meant to be, it will happen. In the right time, with the right person, for the best reason.”

But am I really rushing? I’ve been separated for over seven months now. And it feels like I haven’t been in a real relationship for much longer, especially not a loving one.

So I’ve decided to let everything flow naturally. Whatever happens, happens. I just hope that whatever does doesn’t make it awkward at work if things go south.

I’m drying the last ten glasses behind the bar when Winston emerges from the back. Everyone else left nearly half an hour ago, and the tension has been building inside me ever since, wondering when he’d come talk to me. I expected him to come barreling at me the minute the last waitress stepped foot outside, but as the minutes passed and he didn’t, it felt like an anxious coil started twisting inside my chest.

With him finally standing near me, grabbing a dishtowel and the last glass to dry, I’m ready to combust, the nervous energy inside me wanting to blurt everything out that I’ve been waiting all day to tell him.

“Everything’s been submitted. I filed for divorce, and Mike will be served Monday.” I look up at him, his eyes searching my face. I can’t read his expression.

“And how are you feeling about that?” Winston asks gently, putting the glass he dried next to the rest of them ready for business tomorrow. He leans against the bar, hanging the towel on the edge of the sink.

I consider his words. How am I feeling exactly?

“I feel… relieved.” I nod. “Yeah, relieved. A little sad, but not because of the man himself. Mostly because of how this is and still will affect my girls. For the rest of their lives, really. I never imagined my kids being from a broken home. I had made it my mission early on that I’d do everything I could on my part to make sure they didn’t have to grow up like I did, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness. So it’s really freaking ironic they’re ending up living parallel lives with my own childhood.”

“Your dad cheated on your mom?” he asks quietly.

I grimace and look down at my hands, fidgeting with my apron. “Several times. And my mom stayed with him until he finally asked for a divorce.” I shake my head. “Oh, how history tends to repeat itself, right?” I laugh without humor, circling the bar to take a seat on one of the barstools.