The Divorce Club by Jayde Scott Page A

Thank you." I follow
him to the kitchen. "How did you get together?"
    "It kind of happened." He grabs two desert
plates and cutlery, then opens the fridge and retrieves a cardboard
box with a chocolatier logo. It's all so clean and polished, not
the bachelor pad I expected at all. "I hope you like cheesecake."
He winks. "It's homemade."
    He's making fun of my brownies, but I won't
hold it against him and decide to ignore the remark. "I love
cheesecake, thank you. So it wasn't love at first sight?"
    "Heck, no." Jamie snorts and cuts off two
slices of the bought cheesecake with whipped cream. "I'm glad
you're not on a diet like the rest of the female world."
    Now's my turn to snort. "Oh, I was one of
those constantly dieting women until a few months ago. When I
stopped trying the pounds started to come off. Funny what a divorce
can do to your waistline. Let's get back to Chloe and you, though.
How come she moved out?"
    "She didn't." Jamie carries a tray with our
plates and coffee to the living room and sinks into the plush
charcoal sofa next to me, then hands me a plate. "I bought this
place a while back."
    I dip my fork into the cake and push a chunk
into my mouth, thinking. "You bought this place while you were
still married? You said she lives nearby."
    Jamie nods. "A few minutes from here."
    "That close? That's not good."
    "Why?"
    I swallow and regard him. "Because you'll get
weak once she starts wanting to patch things up. We'll have to get
you surveillance. My reputation depends on my success rate."
    Jamie grins. "You could pop over to check on
me." Is he coming onto me? I put down my fork and stare at him, but
he just shrugs. "Hey, it's your job to make sure I'm not relapsing.
How could I not relapse when I live all by myself in this big house
with no one to talk to?"
    "Weekends and evenings are particularly
hard," I say.
    "I'm glad you're here. May I pinch you to see
if I'm dreaming?" Jamie's voice is low and hoarse. He is flirting, there's no doubt about it. Time to change the
subject.
    "Did you put up the picture in the
office?"
    "What?"
    I take a sip of my coffee to moisten my dry
lips. "The picture I just saw. You must've put it up even though
you're separated."
    "You're right. I'll get rid of it." Jamie
rubs his temple. "Look, can we just drop it for a moment? I don't
want to talk about her."
    "But that's why I'm here," I protest. "As you
said, it's my job to help you get through your divorce."
    "You're helping me already by just being
here. So talk about anything your heart desires...anything but
her."
    "Okay."
    We finish the cake in silence, then Jamie
asks me about Sam.
    "How come you don't have kids?" I ask.
    That strange, distant stare of his, and he
bottles up again. "Once I meet the woman of my dreams and marry
her, I'll think about kids. Until then—" He trails off.
    "But you tied the knot already. Don't you
marry someone because you want kids with them?"
    Jamie sighs. "Possibly."
    The doorbell rings and Jamie jumps up a
little too eager as though he's happy for the diversion. For the
umpteenth time I'm wondering why he's so reluctant to talk about
his marriage. He joined the club to pluck up the courage to sort
out his life, yet he doesn't seem very keen on it.
    The sound of a female voice carries over, but
I can't make out the words. I tune out, only to gasp a second
later. Jamie said Chloe lives nearby. Could she be the unannounced
visitor? Tip-toing to the door, I strain to listen.
    "This is a bad time, Chloe," Jamie says.
    "Why? Do you have someone over?" A brief
female laugh, then, "No! You do. Oh my God, I don't believe
it."
    "Go away."
    Chloe says something too low to understand. I
know exactly how poor Jamie feels. He's trapped, both emotionally
and physically. Pushing her away after spending so many years
together doesn't come naturally, and so he keeps quiet, hiding his
frustration behind feeble attempts at asking her to leave, which
she doesn't take seriously. It must be a pattern, he sending