Medora
Anthony had gone to get me coffee. What a gentleman. Remind me why I didn't want to be with him again? Oh, right. He’d been married before. That doesn’t count—I was almost married too. The difference? He loved his wife like crazy, and I… well, I ran. Oh, and he has a daughter. A sixteen-year-old one.
“How’s sixteen-year-old Lili?” I asked casually, taking the coffee cup from him.
Anthony gave me a puzzled look. “Still sixteen. Still fine.”
“Probably wondering where her almost-stepmom vanished off to,” my mother added, her tone sharper than necessary.
“Mom, I don’t want to get married. No offense,” I said to Anthony, trying to sound polite.
My mom arched a brow. “Medora, you’re thirty-one. You’re not getting any younger.”
“Mom, I’m happy where I am, okay? Who knows—maybe I’ll
