He fills one of the cups with warm coffee from the carafe. His fingers move with ease to scoop up the cream and sugar, adding the exact amount I would if I were making it for myself.
“You remember how I like my coffee?” I ask accusingly.
Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he gives me an adorable half-smile. It takes me back to a memory long ago, the two of us in a café in Paris. His hair was much shorter than it is now, but still wavy, and his face was free of any stubble. His smile was just as easy as it is now, but his eyes were lighter—happier.
“I remember everything about you. You don’t just forget those things because of a breakup, Ebba.”
I know he’s right, because even though I’ve tried so hard to forget everything about him it’s impossible. Fisher Grant is embedded in my very DNA.
“Thanks.” I take the cup from him, and he dips his head in acknowledgment.
The hotel coffee isn’t the best I’ve ever had, but somehow it tastes sweeter than normal and I know it’s only because he made it for me.
“French toast,” he says, passing me the correct plate. “Do you want some fruit?”
“Yes, please.”
He fixes a small bowl with grapes, cantaloupe, pineapple, and what looks to be honeydew melon.
“Are you spoiling me on purpose?” I tease.
“You know I’m not.”
It’s true. He’s always been like this with me. I wouldn’t say he spoils me, but he wants to take care of me.
He waits until I’ve eaten a few bites of food before he says, “I don’t want to get the marriage annulled.”
I drop the grape I was about to eat back into the bowl. “You’d rather get a divorce instead? That seems far more legally annoying than an annulment.”
The stern look he gives me is nearly laughable. Fisher and “stern” just don’t go together. “Last night wasn’t nearly as much of an accident as I think you’d like to convince yourself.” I drop my gaze from his, because he’sright. I could’ve said no. I wasn’t so far out of my mind to not know what we were doing.
“It doesn’t make sense for us to stay married.”
He cocks his head and his lips twitch in a way that I know he’s holding back laughter. “How so?”
“Our lives are very different.”
This time the laughterdoesescape him. “How? We both are always traveling on the ATP Tour. I’m not sure you can get any more perfect than that.”
“I just mean, I have a place in Miami and I’m sure you live in Texas where Noah is.”
“And how often in a year are we really home?”
He has me there and he knows it based on his smirk. “Like a month.”
“Mhm,” he hums. “So, since location isn’t really an issue, what are your other worries?”
“Well, we’re not together,” I remind him. “Marriage seems like quite the leap.”
“Are you worried we don’t know each other well enough?”
His eyes are probing, downright penetrating. I squirm beneath the intensity like I can escape it. He’s baiting me and I know it.
“Not exactly. But we know the old version of us. People change.”
“Then let me get to know those new pieces of you. I’m smart, I’m sure I can reassemble the puzzle I already have of you.”
I really wish he’d stop saying all the right things. It would be so much easier if he really was just a run of the mill jerk, but he’s not. Yes, I’ve harbored anger over the years after going through the miscarriage alone, but my emotions were at an all-time high. Just being around him these few days has been eye-opening for me, because I know I’ve held onto things I shouldn’t have. I think it was easier to be angry at him than to allow myself to grieve.