Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 366

Early morning. The doorbell rang.

Mila opened the door to find Forrest standing on her porch, tall and graceful in a crisp white suit. There was an air of quiet elegance about him, and for a moment she just stared—she’d been wondering when to pay him a visit, but hadn’t expected him to beat her to it.

“Are you… okay?” she managed, fingers tightening on the handle as she took in his handsome face, drawn and tired around the edges.

“No,” he replied, his smile carrying a trace of bitterness. “I miss you, Mimi. I waited for you all night at the Willow Lane Café, but you never came. Tell me—am I too late again?”

“…No.” Hearing the weariness in his voice, Mila felt a pang in her chest. She stepped aside, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she led the way toward the kitchen. “Coffee, like always?”

“Just milk. No sugar.” Forrest followed her at a leisurely pace, adding casually, “And make it hot, please.”

Mila smiled, glancing back at him. “I know. No sugar, always hot. Some things never change.”

He’d had the same habit for years.

“Can I use a plate?” Forrest’s mood seemed to lift a little as he waved a paper bag with a small flourish. “I thought I’d come by early, figured you might not have had breakfast yet. Picked up some pastries from Sweet Bite on the way.”

Mila’s eyes lit up. “Sweet Bite? Their pastries are impossible to get! Every time I go, there’s a line around the block, and half the time they’re sold out.”

She’d lived in Kingsford for years and always loved that little bakery—if only it weren’t so wildly popular.

“It was just my luck,” Forrest said with a small smile. “Today, there was no line at all.”

…

On the upstairs balcony, the small table was set with pastries, coffee, and a pot of tea. Sheer white curtains billowed in the gentle spring breeze, and the first light of dawn painted the horizon in pink and gold.

They sat across from each other.

Mila took a bite of the pastry, warm brown sugar melting on her tongue, the sweetness flooding her senses and settling somewhere deep in her chest. She closed her eyes against the morning light, savoring each bite and sipping her tea.

Forrest drank his coffee quietly, his gaze lingering on her profile, tracing the gentle curve of her cheekbones and the delicate arch of her brows, every glance filled with wordless tenderness.

The spring air was soft, peaceful. For a while, neither spoke; they simply shared the quiet comfort of morning.

When breakfast was over, Mila set her teacup down and, after a moment to gather her thoughts, finally spoke. “These last few days… If Lysander’s given you trouble, it’s because of me, I—”

“It’s all right.” Forrest cut her off gently. “He and I have history. Even if it weren’t for you, it was only a matter of time before we clashed.”

They sat in silence for a long while.

At last, Mila looked up, her voice hesitant. “Your hand… how is it now? Does it still hurt?”

The wind picked up, lifting the white curtains. She met Forrest’s eyes as he smiled softly, extending his arms so his hands rested palms up in front of her.