My Regretful Ex-Husband novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: Flour Isn't a Touch

Twenty weeks later, at ten past four in the morning, Jonas Pryce dropped a fifty-pound sack of flour on the bakery floor and swore.

"Language," Wren said, from the proofing rack.

"It split."

"It always splits. Lift it from the bottom corners."

"You told me that on Monday."

"And you lifted it from the top on Tuesday."

She was twenty-nine weeks along and had stopped hiding it.

Her apron sat high over her stomach and her ankles were swollen in her clogs.

Ruth was back in Room 14B, and Wren's name was on her visitor list.

He worked the oven shift for no pay, at four every morning, in a borrowed apron.

His hands were cracked and his shoulders were burned from the oven door.

He had not touched her once.

Every night he called before he came, from the end of the street, and her phone buzzed on Hallie's counter.

Now he knelt in the white spill and tried to scoop it up with a dustpan, and the flour rose around him in a cloud.

"Stop," Wren said. "You're making it worse."

"I'm cleaning."

"You're redistributing."

She came around the rack to show him, and put her hand on the broom.

Her foot found the slick floor.

She slid, and he came up off his knees so fast he knocked the dustpan over.

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