and a waxin’ too.”

“Keep up with the dirty innuendos; you’re making me hard.”

“Keep up with the hot, dirty mechanic act and I may just do you out here in the driveway.”

That earned me a few eyebrow waggles.

“Your mom is having a slow meltdown because you haven’t eaten yet today. How long until you’re finished?” There was no way he’d be able to hold a sandwich with all of that motor oill on his hands so no sense making him something to eat until he was cleaned up.

He groaned. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do? I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’m still full from last night.”

I was just about to give him a comeback when his cell rang. It was sitting on a towel next to an opened bottle of Gatorade.

“Grab that, would ya? Who is it?” I crouched down and picked it up, tilting the screen so I could see it in the bright sun.

“Your lawyer, Len Bainbridge.”

“Answer it. My hands are too greasy.” I tapped the screen and said, “Hi, Mr.

Bainbridge, it’s Taryn Mitchell.”

“Oh hello, Taryn,” he said jovially. “How are you?”

After a few pleasantries, he asked for Ryan.

Ryan’s legs were still sticking out from underneath his car and he’d already given his instruction. “I’m sorry. He’s indisposed at the moment. He’s asked if I can take a message for him.”

Ryan

cocked an

eyebrow

at

my

formalness.

“Yes, please tell him that my office is emailing the settlement documents with Brown and Sullivan PR. He needs to review them and if all is acceptable, we will proceed with the disbursement.”

“Okay, great. I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks. Oh, yes, one moment. Thanks, Miriam. Yes, I almost forgot, Miriam is sending the requested prenuptial agreement template for his review. He’ll need to mark it ac-cordingly as to what your wishes are in the event of dissolution of marriage. It’s all quite self-explanatory. He, of course, should call me if he has any questions.” My brain seized up at the word prenup.

“Taryn, are you still there?” I think I formed a spit bubble first, which caused an involuntary reaction to choke.

At the second calling of my name, I managed a nod. “I’ll tell him,” I rasped.

Ryan rolled out from underneath his car, wiping his hands off on an old rag. He looked up at me, squinting one eye at the bright sun.

“What did he have to say?”

Did you ever have that warm rush feeling—the kind that hits you right before you either freak out, pass out, or throw up? Yeah, I was there.

“I don’t want your money, Ryan,” I managed to say, even though I felt numb and dis-connected from the conversation. He had millions in the bank. I thought we’d gotten beyond that, but apparently my assumption was incorrect. Of course he would want an escape clause.

“Not one cent,” I sort of choked out through the lump in my throat. “I’m capable of earning my own way and if we bring babies into this world I’d expect you to help me raise them right and healthy, but I’ll keep the apartment should you ever decide you need dissolution and I need a place to live. I guess that stuff will just be a given in the divorce proceedings anyway but I would never touch your money or demand a piece of it because you earned that money. I would never do that to you. You’re building the house on your property—it’s not mine nor will it ever be. I need you to know that. I would never take it from you.” I didn’t realize I was tearing up until he went blurry.

Ryan stood quickly. “Babe, you’re freaking me the fuck out. What the hell are you talking about?”

My arm moved, holding out his phone. I should have been angry, but I wasn’t for some reason. I was more desperate and wounded than anything. “Your lawyer is emailing you the prenup agreement you requested. I want you to know I’ll sign it. It’s only right. You should have peace of mind.” Ryan looked like I’d just punched him.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up. What prenup? I didn’t ask for a prenup.”

I shook the phone in my hand, making a point. “He says different.”

Ryan ducked down, making sure he had my eyes. “Taryn, honey, I swear to God I did not ask him to write up a prenup. I swear. I am just as blindsided by this as you are. But I will get to the bottom of it, you can be damn sure of that. Give me my phone. I’m calling him right now.”

Just as I was ready to hand it over, thankful that he didn’t think I was going to empty his pockets or even imagine me being that greedy that I’d do such a thing, I pulled my hand back.

“Wait.” I wiped the hurt from my cheek.

“Before you do that we should talk about it. I know that there are no guarantees that people stay together for life, but I want it written down that I don’t want your money.

You help me pay for your children’s’ care, should we have any, and that’s it. I don’t need alimony or any of that because I’ve gotten spoiled or feel entitled that you owe me or something.”

Ryan took my arm firmly in his hand.

“Hey, hey, stop. Stop this—right now.” Once the floodgates had opened, I couldn’t. “No, we need to discuss this! You have a lot of money, Ryan. I didn’t work hard to earn that; you did. That’s yours—all of it. I don’t expect you to fork over gobs of cash I didn’t earn because we didn’t last like we’d hoped. And then there’s the property you bought and stuff. That’s all yours, too. Just because it’s next to my family’s cabin doesn’t mean I’m entitled—”

“Stop!” he ordered, loud and firm. “I am not talking about this.” I don’t know why that frustrated me, but it did. “We need to,” I insisted.

“No, we don’t.” Ryan frowned at me, tugging my arm slightly. “You want to give me peace of mind, then stop talking about this shit right now.”

“We’re going to need to talk about it eventually. You know that as well as I do. There’s too much at stake . . .”

He glared down at me. “Let me ask you something. Did Dan and Jennifer Mitchell have a prenup?”

“Ryan, that’s—”

He raised his voice over mine. “Your parents have a prenup, Tar? Yes or no?”

“I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t, but still, that’s not the point.” He held up a halting hand. “You think my mom and dad in there have a fucking prenup?”