Page 90 of The Love Destroyers

Yup.

Oh, splendid. You know, I think that woman we met the other day was right. It feels like anything could be possible tonight.

Feel free to offer your friend the bran muffins in the refrigerator. I made them this morning, and I doctored the recipe. It’s much better. I actually ate two.

Maybe I should have only eaten one. My stomach really is a mess.

Shaking my head, I type:

I won’t expect you until late.

Wish me luck.

I’m still crouched by the rabbit cage. Bracing myself, I stand, feeling the burn in my ribs. I use one hand on top to keep myself propped up on.

I glance over at Emma, who just lifted the plate after arranging those carrots as carefully as if the fate of the world depended on them.

“Chuck is going to lay one on your mother.”

“What?” she asks dropping the plate onto the counter with a resounding clang.

A smile ghosts across my face. “Don’t worry, Em. He’s going to ask first, the way a gentleman should.”

Shaking her head, she reaches for one of the carrots, their arrangement now completely destroyed, and puts it in her mouth for a bite. “I’m really glad it’s Chuck she’s seeing, and I hope it works out, but part of me still can’t believe she’s serious about dating again.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, angling my head.

She comes forward with the plate of carrots, obviously having given up on the order plan, then lowers into a crouch next to me to squeeze a few of the sticks through the bars of the rabbit’s cage. This puts her next to me on her knees, and the sight brings back a hundred different fantasies I’ve had since meeting her. I suck in a breath and hold it, because I’m still interested in hearing her response to my question. I want to fold back her layers, to know her fully.

Peering up at me, she says, “She’s been married three times, and she’s told me more times than I can count that marriage is a trap. My father was a terrible person, her first husband didn’t sound much better, and Mark was a good guy, but it wasn’t thebest match. She could have divorced him if she’d wanted to—he wouldn’t have fought her—but my dad would never have let her go. He would have taken everything from her. Including us. Anyway…that’s one of the reasons I decided to work on divorce cases, to help women who are stuck in that trap. And now, here she is, looking for another serious relationship to fall into when she insisted she never would.”

“To be fair, I doubt Chuck would ever hold anyone back. He’s the most mild-mannered man I’ve ever met. He once apologized to a barista who gave him the wrong drink.”

She smiles and gets up, inches away from me, and I feel a pull of longing in my chest—a desire to reach out and touch. To see if her head would tuck under my chin if I pulled her into my chest.

Of course, if I pulled her into my chest right now, I’d probably be writhing in pain the next second.

“Like I said, I’m glad it’s Chuck. For her sake. I hope she doesn’t walk all over him.”

I grin at her. “I think he’d like a woman to walk all over him. The man takes forty-five minutes to pick a movie to watch, and after all of that fuss, he makes me choose it for him nine times out of ten. Maybe they’ll find a good balance.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says softly. “It’s the full moon Leap Day, and I think I’m starting to see the joy of statistical improbabilities happening. Anthony and Rosie are finding a good balance. Do you know how rare that is given how they met?”

I give her a wide grin. “Have they reached seventy-thirty in your estimation?”

She smiles back at me. “I watched them share dessert the other night…with one fork. Maybe I’d even grant them eighty-twenty.”

“I’d let you eat all of my dessert,” I say like a fool.

She shakes her head, still smiling slightly, but I can tell she thinks I’m throwing out another line. I’ll let her think so.

A few seconds pass before she says, “I want to believe they can be happy. I want to believe my mother can find someone to be happy with too. But it’s hard to let go of everything I’ve experienced and seen.”

“We’re going to take care of Jeffrey,” I remind her. “We have the information on Ellie’s phone. He messed with the wrong person. Two of the wrong people, actually, as much as I hate to give Ellie a compliment.”

Her smile turns sad. “It’s not going to automatically solve all of my problems.”

“What would therapists do if people magically stopped being fucked up?” I say. “You don’t want to deprive thousands of people of a living.”

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