shrugged. âThatâs a shame.â Her gaze zeroed in on the coffee tray. âWhat do I owe you for the coffee?â
â Nothing ,â he said. âIâm not here just to bring you coffee.â
âReally?â she said. She turned, propping her butt against the sink cabinet. She wore skinny black jeans beneath a long artistâs smock, liberally splashed with what he assumed was clay and glaze.
Her feet were clad only in flip flops, her toenails painted a vivid red. They drew his eye, and also drew an unwanted memory of bare feet on the beach, sinking into sand as he and Mila sank into each other.
âSo what do you want, then?â
Milaâs voice dragged him back to the present. Her tone was strong and directâlike the Mila he was used too. Not fractured or abandoned. Heâd never seen Mila like sheâd been on that beach, even as a teenager. Friday had been something elseâa different level.
Heâd hated to see Mila in pain. Heâd hated to cause her pain.
âI want to fix this,â he said.
âI thought Iâd made it clear how our relationship would progress from now on,â she said.
She was meeting his gaze now. Her big blue eyes were luminous.
âI donât want to just be another forgotten acquaintance on your friends list.â
âYou want me to be a real friend?â Mila said, very calmly. âWho you can have lunch with and buy coffee forââ she nodded at the cups he still held ââand chat about current events and our lives and stuff?â
He nodded, but he knew this wasnât headed anywhere good.
âBut not to kiss on the beach under any circumstances, right? Just so weâre both crystal-clear.â
He couldnât read her at all now. He didnât know what she meant.
âDid you want that to happen?â he asked, genuinely surprised. Although he wasnât sure if he was surprised by what sheâd said or the fact that sheâd said it.
He hadnât allowed himself to reflect on what had happened, and the tension between them well before that kiss. Heâd only focused on the fact that it shouldnât have happened at all.
âNo,â Mila said. âI didnât.â
She said the words firmly, her gaze equally firm. But there was still something wrong. Something in the way she held herself and the way she looked at him. A vulnerability, perhaps, that made Seb want to fill the air with explanations.
âI just canât do this, Mila. And not just with youâthis isnât about you. This is about me , and what a crappy husband I was, and how that proves I shouldnât do relationships, that Iâm terrible at them. Iâd just screw things up and hurt you like I hurt Steph. And I just canât face hurting you, and losing you, tooââ
âIt was a kiss, Seb, nothing more,â Mila said, again with that relentless calm. âThereâs no need to talk about relationships.â
âMilaââ
She shook her head. âYou were right. It was a mistake.â
âSo whyâ?â
âCanât we be friends?â she said. âBecause itâs a waste of time. Just like itâs a waste of time whenever I answer a call from my dad. Or am stupid enough to agree to see him. People make time for those who are important to them. Neither of us did thatâfor years . You know what? I canât be bothered with subterfuge.â
âIâm not like your father, Mila,â Seb said, his jaw tight.
âYouâre right,â Mila said simply. âYou have absolutely no reason to feel guilty for walking away.â
âIâm not walking away.â
Mila smiled sadly. âYou already did. So did I. Canât you see?â
It felt as if a hand was inside his chest, relentlessly smothering his heart. Until now Seb had refused to believe this could happen. This was fixable. It had to be. He