Chapter 2

Willa sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. She'd slept terribly, and the dark circles under her eyes were so pronounced, it looked like she'd been punched.

"Willa, coffee!" Emma Chase, her coworker, handed her a latte. "You look terrible. Did you get dumped or something?"

"I've been divorced for two years. No man to trouble me." Willa took a long gulp.

"Maybe it's a sign your old flame is about to reignite!" Emma waggled her eyebrows. " Yesterday my ex liked a post of mine from three years ago, and I was so hyped I couldn't sleep all night."

Willa gave a wry smile. She'd much rather Luke had just liked a post than sent a reply that made her freeze in shock.

"Oh, by the way, your project got approved." The editor-in-chief poked her head out of her office. "It's City Serendipity. The author's coming in next Wednesday to sign the contract. You'll be the one handling it."

"Really?" Willa perked up instantly. "That's awesome!"

This was the project she'd poured her heart into after the divorce. Even though Luke had warned her about the author's complicated background, she'd done her homework—the manuscript was entirely fictional, with no sensitive content whatsoever.

She wanted to prove she could do this on her own, that she didn't need anyone second-guessing her decisions or telling her to "think about the consequences."

*****

At lunchtime, Willa and her best friend, Dawn Sutherland, were grabbing a bite at the restaurant downstairs.

"So, you really didn't reply to him?" Dawn asked, biting her straw, her eyes sparkling. "Come on, that's such a golden opportunity!"

"What opportunity? For him to mock me?" Willa stabbed at the chicken in her salad. "You know how he is. He can infuriate you with a single sentence."

"But he replied instantly." Dawn leaned closer. "Two years of silence, and he replies instantly. What does that tell you?"

"He probably just had his phone in his hand."

"It means he cares!"

Willa didn't respond. She remembered their first year of marriage, when she had a fever and Luke took the day off to look after her. Instead of saying, "Let me know if you're feeling unwell," he'd come in every hour to check her temperature and jot it down on a sticky note.

When she refused to eat, he'd make her oatmeal, set it on her nightstand, and say, "It's 135 degrees. Best to eat it between 130 and 140."

His clumsy way of caring actually seemed kind of cute now when she looked back on it.

"I'm changing my number," Willa said.

Dawn's eyes widened. "Over one little message?"

"Yes." Willa set down her fork. "Because I know myself. If I keep this number, I might... actually be tempted to send another message to him."

And she couldn't go down that road again.

*****

That afternoon, heading to the printing house to check proofs, Willa scrolled through her phone on the subway. Her finger unconsciously found her contacts and stopped on the name "Luke."

She knew his number by heart. While they were dating, she could never remember it, so Luke had written it on a sticky note and stuck it to the back of her phone.

She'd torn it off after the divorce, only to realize the string of digits was already burned into her memory.

Somehow, she found herself tapping open her Messages app.

[Sorry about last night. Wrong chat.] She typed it out, then deleted it.

[What did that reply mean?] Deleted.

[Just so you know, I'm changing my number.] Deleted again.

Finally, she locked her phone and stuffed it into her bag. Outside the window, the cityscape blurred past, skyscrapers sliding by. Some of those buildings, she knew, were designed by Luke's firm—clean, sharp lines, just like him.

Back home that evening, Willa started packing. She'd decided to move, to change her environment. She'd rented this apartment when they got married and kept the lease after the divorce simply because she couldn't be bothered to move. But now, it felt like time.

From the top shelf of her closet, she pulled out a cardboard box filled with odds and ends.

Drafts of their wedding invitation, ticket stubs from their honeymoon, the ridiculous matching T-shirts they'd bought together. Hers read "My Husband is an Ice Cube," his read "My Wife is a Volcano".

There was also a photo album.

Willa sat down on the floor and opened it. The first photo was the formal portrait they'd had taken for their marriage registration.

She was grinning from ear to ear, while Luke... Luke was trying his best to smile, his mouth stiff and awkward, like he was being held hostage.

"Why did you marry me, anyway?" she whispered to the photo.

Her phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

Willa hesitated for a moment before answering. "Hello?"

Silence hung on the other end of the line for three full seconds.

Then came the voice she'd heard for three years and avoided for two.

"Don't change your number." It was Luke.

Willa's heart thudded hard. "How... how do you know this number?"

"If I want to know, I'll know," Luke said, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather. "I overreacted about what happened yesterday."

Overreacted? Willa froze, barely able to believe her ears. Luke admitting he'd overreacted? Hell must have frozen over for him to say something like that out loud.

"So that reply you sent..." She said.

"Literal meaning," Luke cut her off. "If you text me again, I'll do something about it."