The muscles in Tallulah's legs hurt as she moved through the small kitchen, a residual effect of her ice skating adventures the day before. While Gillian looked after Evie on the sidelines, it had been Tallulah's task to accompany Sammy on the ice, and the little bugger was fast on the skates these days. But despite the pain, it felt like she was floating on clouds as she puttered about the kitchen, stirring a pot there, putting in some spice there, and feeling the air fill with wondrous smells. Because Lance was coming over, and she couldn't wait to see him, and feel him, again.

Just as for their canceled date the other night, she had pulled out all stops in preparing the menu. Tallulah never did make things easy for herself when it came to cooking and baking. Beef Wellington was to be their main course, while a fanciful Charlotte Russe was served for dessert. She'd even prepared Tupperware for Lance to bring leftover for Tyler in, although she secretly hoped those snacks wouldn't be delivered until the morning after.

She missed him already. His smile. His voice. His arms around her. Even though they had only been apart for a little more than a day. It appeared they had both spent Saturday night babysitting. Tallulah had watched her niece and nephew--who luckily were tired after their skating endeavors and agreed to sit still and watch a movie with her--while Lance spent the night pampering his injured cousin and covering for him in the online soccer tournament.

But tonight, no one needed to be watched or saved. Lance had even ensured that Robin--who was off work on Sundays--was around the house to prevent any pressing Tyler-emergencies.

Just as she checked the temperature on the meat thermometer--only a few more degrees to go--the sound of the doorbell startled Tallulah. An angry red burn appeared on the back of her hand as she stroked it against the oven door. "Fork!" she exclaimed, using the swear word she'd learned to utter while in the vicinity of her niece and nephew. The little angels seemed to have an intuitive sense of what was a bad word, and latched on to it immediately.

If it was Lance outside the door, then he was early. Perhaps he was as excited about their date as she was. Her excitement about seeing her handsome beau again chased away any concerns she should have harbored as she pushed down the handle to open the door.

A cold dust of air and dark eyes met her on the other side.

It wasn't Lance. It wasn't temperate winds and warm eyes with promises of spring. It was only winter outside.

The man on the other side of the door wore a dissatisfied scowl. His hair was dark, unkempt, and tied back into a sloppy knot. He hadn't even bothered to wear an ironed shirt. The wrinkly flannel fabric stuck out under the oversized, and over-prized, down coat.

"What are you doing here, Darren?" she asked, trying to quell the nauseous feeling in her stomach caused by the mere sight of him.

He couldn't be here. Not now. Not ever.

But especially not now. Not when Lance was about to arrive any moment.

"Is that how you greet your husband, Lula?" Darren replied, with a damn smirk on his face.

"You haven't been my husband for many years, Darren," she countered. "Not really. Not in the ways that count."

Darren didn't reply but his gaze fell on her fanciful tulip-covered dress--yellow and blue, like summer--and his nostrils flared as he caught wind of the delicious smells from the kitchen.

"Are you planning something special for tonight?" he asked. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"You kind of are..." she muttered, just wanting her unfortunately-still-husband to leave. She could deal with him later. And she could talk to Lance tonight and explain everything. She could still save this.

But such hopes diminished drastically as Darren, rather brusquely, stepped inside the apartment. His nose crinkled as he looked at all the knick-knacks and silly treasures on the shelves. He did always favor a more bare and sterile decorating style. Although they never really had a place to decorate together since they kept moving from place to place. They had never stayed anywhere for long enough to call it a home and put personal touches to it.

"You've got even more crap than last time I was here," he surmised and picked up a ceramic cat with a disgusted look.

"It's my place, Darren," she informed him, "and I can decorate it how I want."

He shrugged and slumped down on the floral baroque-style couch. His brutish appearance looked odd against the huge purple roses on the fabric. Misplaced. He didn't belong here.

"What are you doing here, Darren?" she asked, getting desperate for him to leave.

"I'm just visiting my wife," the intruder replied with a shrug. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Tallulah sighed and sat down on a footstool next to the couch, realizing that she would have to deal with this situation before handling anything else. "I assume you received the divorce papers," she said. "Your lawyer was supposed to go through them with you."

He nodded. "That's what I... wanted to talk to you about, Lula," he said and pulled his hands through his greasy hair. "I was hoping... we could try again. Since it had been two years and you never filed for a divorce, I guess I... hoped that meant something. "

"It meant I didn't want to interact with you, Darren," she replied, trying to keep her voice void of emotion. "I was done. After everything you did. I just wanted to move on."

His head snapped toward her in a Poltergeist-like action. "So what changed then? Why did you suddenly call me a few weeks ago?"

A few weeks ago a breeze of summer had started to blow. But if she told Darren that he would inevitably place himself in front of that hopeful wind. He would stand in the way of her happiness.

"It was time," she simply said instead, defiantly meeting his hostile gaze. "It's time for both of us to move on, Darren." She sighed. "If you just sign the papers. Since we have no children or shared estate it should be an easy process."

He scooted closer to her. Way too close. "What if I don't want it to be easy, Lula?" he asked and reached his hand out to stroke some stray hairs from her face. She recoiled at the motion. Those hairs were not his to catch anymore.

"Then I guess we'll have to go to court." She firmly caught his hand mid-motion. "You can't stop me from getting my will. But it will be easier if you cooperate."

Darren shook his head and made a tsk sound. "You never even told me..." he muttered and leaned his face in his hands. His despair almost seemed real. "You never told me what went wrong, Lula. You just left. So I figured I would leave you alone for a while."

"I told you plenty of times that I wasn't happy," she countered, still holding his hand in hers. There was something so familiar with that grip. "That I wanted another life. I wanted to study and explore my own interests, not just yours. You just never listened."

"I'll listen now," he said, his face suddenly softer. His puppy eyes almost made her melt. But just almost. Brown puppy eyes didn't work on her anymore.

Only teal eyes could work their magic on her.

She shook her head, making the carefully coiled curls on her head rustle. "It's too late, Darren. You've had your chance." She lifted his hand with hers and put it back on his own lap.

"So you've moved on... with someone else?"

Tallulah didn't want to answer that question. She wanted Darren out of her apartment.

Of course, that's when the doorbell rang again.

Tallulah knew who it was. The man she had longed to see all day. Now she dreaded the encounter.

She couldn't save this.

Author's Note: Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up. I initially had another chapter planned in between the previous one and this one, which featured Tallulah ice skating with her niece and nephew. But I realized that while that scene was cute, it didn't really move the story forward, so I scrapped it and continued to this chapter instead. I may feature the ice skating in a bonus chapter.

My hope is to finish this story before the end of February as I plan to do the ONC (Open Novella Contest) this year again, and I want to be able to focus on whatever story I write there fully (since it's prompt-based, I'm not sure yet what that story will be).