“Uh-huh,” he muses, his voice low as his blue eyes flick between mine. “And what is my type, Michelle?” I straighten my spine. “Blond. Bubbly.” He tongues his cheek. He looks irritated, but that only makes me stand taller. He’s never been like this with me, and I don’t know what to do with it. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Blond. Bubbly. That pretty perfectly describes the woman I divorced.” The words ooze with disdain. It’s like getting shot in the chest, puncturing my heart so swiftly that I didn’t see it coming. “Are you mad at me now?” I ask sharply.
