Chapter 1My Sweet Puppy Is Him at Eighteen

The day my husband brought his assistant to her OB-GYN appointment, his eighteen-year-old self had me pinned against the wall, kissing me senseless.

“How are you still so sweet, so damn kissable at thirty, baby? I love you so much.”

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes sparkling. “Speaking of which, where’s the thirty-year-old me? Why isn’t he here to pick you up from work?”

I sighed, gently pushing him away just as my thirty-year-old husband, Jackson, fixed his cold, hard gaze on me from across the hall.

“Already got yourself a boy toy, have we? And you still can’t bear to sign the divorce papers?”

He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Seraphina, you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

As I watched him wrap an arm around his young assistant and walk away, the eighteen-year-old Jack started thrashing in my arms again.

“Who does that asshole think he is, talking to my wife like that?” he fumed. “I swear, I’ll bite my tongue off and make him disappear from existence!”

* * *

The eighteen-year-old Jackson was just as I remembered him: proud, possessive, and nearly impossible to calm down once he was worked up.

It wasn't until I pulled out the old Nintendo I’d kept tucked away in a drawer that he finally settled down, his eyes glued to the screen. I locked him in my office and went downstairs to grab us some dinner.

I’d just stepped into the diner when a chilling voice sounded behind me.

“Twenty-eight minutes.”

I froze, turning to meet the icy stare of the thirty-year-old Jackson.

“What are you still doing here? I thought you’d be with Penelope.”

He ignored my question, his eyes scanning me with a cold appraisal. “Don’t play dumb. You were in your office with that kid, alone, for a full twenty-eight minutes.” He practically spat out the last few words.

A cruel smirk played on his lips. “He looks young. Guess the kid doesn't have much stamina, huh? At his age, I could go for at least forty minutes, easy.”

It took a special kind of venomous wit to come up with a line like that. I shot him a weary look, not bothering to tell him that the "kid" was literally a younger version of himself. I turned back to the counter to order.

“A spicy beef chili, no cilantro. A side of steamed greens and a mushroom omelet. And a slice of cherry pie.”

Hearing my order, he let out another cold laugh from behind me.

“Seraphina, that’s everything I like to eat. Not even trying to cater to your new boy toy’s tastes? Or is he just a temporary distraction, not a permanent replacement?”

His barbed words were starting to get under my skin.

“Jackson,” I said, my voice tight with frustration, “not everyone is like you, lining up a replacement before the marriage is even over.”

That shut him up. He opened his mouth, a reflexive denial on his lips. “I told you, I’m not…”

“You used my name to book her appointment. Don’t tell me that wasn’t deliberate.” I cut him off, my voice turning to ice as I picked up the takeout bags. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to disgust me yet again.”

“I’ll agree to the divorce. See you at the courthouse next Monday. Don’t be late.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I brushed past him and walked out of the diner. The moment I stepped outside, the bitter winter wind hit my tear-streaked face like a razor blade.

As I fumbled blindly for a tissue, a warm cup was pressed into my hands. It was the hot chocolate I used to love as a teenager.

“Silly girl,” a soft voice murmured. “Still so clueless. You’re crying from the cold and you didn’t even think to wear a coat.”

Eighteen-year-old Jack gently wiped my tears, then shrugged off his own heavy coat and draped it over my shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of pine and his body heat wrapped around me, and for a moment, I was completely lost in the past.