Max remembered all the fights he and Bonnie had had about black ice and motorcycle related deaths and the likelihood of him being splattered across the freeway and almost laughed out loud.Holy shit, we really are getting divorced.
Bonnie went into the study to find the papers he needed to sign and Max rubbed Sparky’s belly. “I’ve missed you. How’s your new daddy treating you?”
Sparky didn’t answer, but her additional poundage implied she was living well.
Bonnie slapped the papers on the kitchen counter and Max signed them, leaving no time for meaningful nerves or glances. When he was done Bonnie smiled as though he’d done nothing more significant than put his name on a birthday card. “I’ll forward them to the lawyer but it looks like everything’s in order.”
“Good to know, Ms. Fremantle.”
Bonnie laughed. “Ooh, that sounds strange. I’m Bonnie Fremantle again.” They smiled at each other, both a little woozy.
“Want a beer?”
“Sure. If you can’t have a beer at ten in the morning when you sign your divorce papers, when can you?”
Bonnie pulled two bottles out of the huge stainless steel fridge and gestured toward the squishy navy blue couch. “Have a chat?”
He hesitated and then sat. “Nice place.”
“Thanks, it's so weird to have all this space.” Bonnie sat beside him, tucking her legs beneath herself. “So what’s been going on with you?”
Max drank deeply from his bottle. An accurate recap of what was going on with him would require at least another ten beers. “Nothing. What about you?”
“Last weekend Scott and I drove up to Byron Bay so I could meet his parents.”
“They like you?”
Bonnie shrugged. “They’re not crazy about the fact that I’m older than him.”
Max snorted. “Older? You’ve got two years on Scott.”
Bonnie patted the couch and Sparky leaped up to sit between them. “You know how parents are. They look at me and all they see is a thirty-five-year-old divorcee and not the blushing virgin they wanted Scott to pair off with.”
Max made a non-committal noise. He’d give his right arm to have Julia be two years older than him. What would she look like at thirty-five? Gorgeous probably, faint creases around her eyes, contrasting with all her freckles—
“I know that look.”
Max felt his ears go hot. “What look?”
Bonnie smiled craftily. “That Max Connor I’ve-got-a-woman-on-my-mind look.”
“That’s not true. Or real.”
“It is, I would know. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Max stared at her, still unable to believe he was having this conversation with his freshly divorced wife. “Life is so fucking strange.”
Bonnie patted his hand. “I know. But seriously, Maxie, spill.”
Maxie. He didn’t miss that. Or when Bonnie was feeling particularly cruel and called him Maxie Pad. “There’s nothing to spill.”
Aside from his total fucking incompetence when it came to relationships but Bonnie already knew all about that.
Bonnie tapped her lower lip with her beer bottle. “Fine, I’ll just have to guess. Did you meet some blonde with big cans and a back tattoo?”
“Nope.”
“You and Dean finally taking things to the next level?”