Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,11

doesn’t buy it.

“Don’t let him win,” he says quietly, just for the two of us, looking me square in the eye. “Take your punishment, get this mess over with, and move on with your life.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat that comes out of nowhere, I nod. “Yeah, I’m planning on it.”

He sighs again before giving me a quick hug, kissing the top of my head. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“Okay.” I needed that. I needed someone to tell me that so hopefully I’ll start believing it myself, because right now, things seem dismal, and that’s putting it lightly.

My mama doesn’t say much when my daddy turns the car in the direction of my house instead of the restaurant. When he pulls up into my drive, I get out and shut the door, without preamble.

“Call us tomorrow,” my mama says, rolling her window down. “And I expect you to be at church on Sunday.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I call out over my shoulder, offering her a consolatory wave as I’m halfway to the door.

I know she means well, but she has been downright stifling lately. She’s constantly checking up on me, coming by the house unannounced, and unloading all of her wisdom whenever she sees fit. I know I need some of it. We all need our mama’s words of wisdom from time to time, but I also need a freaking break.

I need to breathe.

I need to forget.

I need some time for my heart to heal.

I need to figure out how to fall out of love with Asher Williams.

Because as hurt and mad as I am, there’s still a part of me that loves the man I married. The one I was planning on starting a family with. The guy I planned to spend the rest of my life with. He was in all my plans … five-year, ten-year … retirement. And now, I’m left figuring out who I am without him.

Today’s soundtrack would include Choices by the late, great George Jones. Maybe I’ll pour a glass of wine and listen to him on repeat. Sometimes, the only thing that can soothe my soul is the steel guitar.

It’s been two weeks since my last run-in with the law, which is something to celebrate in itself, but I’ve got something even better than that: my divorce is final.

I met with my lawyer yesterday after work and it’s a done deal. After a short trip to the DMV and the Social Security Office, I’m officially back to being Tempest Cassidy. I’d like to say it feels good, and in a way it does, but I’m also fighting off the impending doom of being alone.

How did I get here?

The thing I try to keep reminding myself is that, for the rest of my life, I won't ever have to look at Asher's face again, if I choose not to. After months of living under the weight of his betrayal, I feel the first ease of tension, like I can breathe again.

And tonight, I feel like letting my hair down.

Earlier, I contemplated calling someone to go out with me, but most of the people I know have either joined Team Asher or refuse to take sides, which in my book, means they’re Team Asher. The few people who actually are on my team would never be caught dead in a bar. They’re either knocked-up or are your typical wholesome southern woman, which I am neither—with child or a stereotype.

I'm more than certain my mama and daddy would frown on my choice of location for my celebration, but one thing I've learned since my life got turned upside down is that from here on out, I'm doing things my way.

Operation: Make Tempest Happy.

Because if I don't, who will?

For years, I let my happiness reside in Asher Williams. Twelve years, to be exact, since I was sixteen years old, and look where that got me—cheated on and divorced, with a rap sheet.

Not anymore. From now on, I answer to no one but myself.

So tonight, I'm going to the Pink Pony.

Sure, it’s not my usual scene. Let’s face it, my usual scene for the last eight years has been my house, the bakery, or an occasional night out to dinner. But it’s precisely what I need—half-priced ladies’ night, music to drown out my thoughts, low lighting to keep me as inconspicuous as possible, and half-naked girls to keep the men folk distracted.

I know, I know. You’re probably thinking, what the heck, Tempest? Can’t you at least go where there are