Page 89 of The Love Destroyers

I’m sure there’s a thirty-minute story about it, but I haven’t heard it yet.

“Are those for me or the rabbit?” I ask as I grip the top of the cage.

“Both,” she says with a sidelong smile before she starts chopping. “When do you think Chuck’s coming home?”

Good question.

I take out my phone and find half a dozen messages from Ellie, requesting a softer pillow, a thinner pillow, and a heart-to-heart chat about what it means that Jeffrey showed up after all and whether she should give him the time of day. One of the messages is a link to the livestream, along with a thumbs up.

They’re all worried about you!

None of the messages, of course, ask how I’m doing. Carrot’s name isn’t mentioned either. But in the final text she asks whether I’ll be back at the hotel tonight, or if she should expect me bright and early in the morning.

I type out a quick response—

I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow. But I think Nicky’s at the hotel. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to help you with your requests, and she’s a fantastic listener.

There, let Nicole deal with that shit.

I pull up a message window for Chuck.

How’s it going, man?

There’s no response, so I glance at Emma, watching as she continues to cut the carrots into precise sticks. I’ll bet each oneis the same size. The same amount of ounces. She’s a woman of opposites—a mix of precise and passionate, of whims and rules. It’s frankly intoxicating.

Feeling a buzz in my hand, I glance down at my phone.

Good news! I can hardly believe it, but I think this IS a date. The dessert didn’t turn out so good. We weren’t paying too much attention to the details, and Dahlia almost lit a kitchen towel on fire with the torch. But she had some chocolate-covered strawberries in the refrigerator. She said they aphrodisiacs. That means something, right?

Most definitely

Thank you for helping me choose a shirt last night. She told me it looked “debonair.” I had to Google it, but it’s a good thing.

You know, I think she might want me to kiss her.

She wants more than that if she’s feeding him chocolate-covered strawberries and talking about aphrodisiacs, but I don’t want to scare him off.

So what the fuck are you doing texting me?

I was in the lavatory doing some research when I saw your message.

Research?

It’s a long story, but I don’t want to be in here for too long. She might think I have IBS.

Should I ask her if I can kiss her? It’s been such a long time.

I’m guessing so. These Rosings women like to be in charge.

Oh dear. I realize I’ve only been talking about myself. How is your night going?

This is probably where I should tell him about the bruised rib and the nightmare state of the apartment, but when I look up, I see her. Emma has finished chopping the carrots and is arranging them on a plate as if the rabbit’s not going to immediately plow his way through them.

Remembering Chuck, I glance back down at the phone screen.

It’s going great. I have some company, actually.

A woman?

---