Page 82 of The Love Destroyers

I text Nicole a thumbs up before tucking my phone away and heading back toward the seating area. The woman from thebrewery still has her phone out, but she rests it in her lap as I walk back toward her, claiming the seat Seamus vacated.

She bites her bottom lip.

All I do is look at her—a cool, assessing look that is the only useful thing I learned in the debutante program, and she spills, “It was my fault, really. I was the manager tonight. I should have known what all of the employees were doing.”

I sit back. “Well, that was easier than expected. Usually I have to take people to court before they’ll admit culpability.”

A resigned look fills her eyes.

It’s to my benefit if she’s resigned, but I find myself saying, “Don’t do that. Don’t give up before you even put in a fight.”

She sighs and rubs her forehead with the palm of her hand. Then, in a small voice, she says, “Itwasmy fault. Otis isn’t very good at his job, and we all know it, but he’s sweet, really, and… I should’ve kept a better eye on him, that’s all. Now they’ve had to fire him, and I’m going to have to let him know.”

As Seamus’s self-appointed attorney, I play hardball, even if he’s decided not to sue. But at the same time, didn’t I blame myself for not keeping a closer watch on Jeffrey? For falling for his bullshit?

Here’s something else we were taught in debutante class:be demure and don’t make waves. I didn’t learn that lesson, obviously, but maybe it slipped under my skin anyway. Maybe, when I had doubts about Jeffrey, I told myself that it was because I was being hard, and women were supposed to be soft.

This woman is as soft as a cashmere sweater knitted by lambs.

I tilt my head, studying her. “And Buchanan Brewery will be paying for his medical bills?”

She nods forcefully. “Yes, of course. Every penny.”

“So long as his bills are covered, he won’t press charges.”

Air gushes out of her, and she rubs a keychain hanging from the side of her purse. “Thank goodness. I knew he was a kind man.”

“Kind?” I repeat, letting out more of a snort than someone’s official representative should. It’s just…kind isn’t a word I associate with Seamus.

Secretive? Absolutely.

Flirtatious? Yes, he makes it an art.

Sexy? Effortlessly.

Interesting? Yes, to my misfortune.

Butkind?

A kind man would rescue kittens.

And, sure, Seamus has done that, but he didn’t come overknowinghe was going to rescue a cat.

No, he just thought he was helping you, and he didn’t hesitate. Just like he didn’t hesitate to volunteer for Operation Love Destroyers. He hasn’t quit either.

Sophie nods vigorously, more animated than before. “I was here on Tuesday morning with my aunt. I’d had this string of bad luck that ended in a freak accident. My aunt said it was a sign that I shouldn’t marry Jonah, and it really wasawful—the worst day I’ve had in years—but then Seamus and this sweet older man came into the waiting room with a bunch of flowers. They were giving them out. And after he heard what had happened, he brought us lunch. It was the sweetest thing. Sometimes a kind gesture can really turn a person’s day around. I couldn’t believe he was the one who got hurt at the brewery today.” She plucks at the bottom of her sweater. “To be honest, it felt like more bad luck. You know, my aunt’s convinced there’s some sort of weird spiritual nexus today because it’s Leap Day and a full moon. Part of me thinks she’s right, because strange things have been happening all day. All week, really.”

I don’t usually buy into that kind of thing, but maybe there’s something to it. Because what she just told me about Seamus makes my stomach feel like it’s flipping around.

“He brought you lunch on Tuesday?” I ask. I was so convinced he’d gone on a date, but he’d brought Sophie and her aunt lunch because she’d had an awful, no good day. Shit. He rescues kittens and brings lunch to downtrodden women in emergency rooms. Maybe he has a kind streak, the way other men have mean streaks.

“Yes,” Sophie tells me. “Like I said, I appreciate kindness. You don’t see much of it when you work in customer service.” There’s a buzzing sound from her vicinity. Her eyes widen and she reaches into her lap for her cell phone. “Oh, it’s Jonah,” she says. “I’ll just be a moment. He doesn’t like it when I don’t answer right away.”

Strike One against Jonah. And there, in Sophie’s eyes as she walks away, is Strike Two. Answering a call from her fiancé makes her nervous.

But I shake the thought off, because I’m not wearing the Emma the Divorce Attorney hat. Right now, I’m just Emma Rosings Smith.

And I’m here as Seamus’s…

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