Page 44 of Love's a Script
“I’m waiting for their pot pie to be delivered. It has carrots, peas, potatoes, onions, mushrooms. Life-changing meal.”
“You had me before mushrooms,” she said.
“Not a fan?”
“Something about the texture, the taste, the smell are just nasty to me,” she said. “Like those little stringy fibers you see when you slice one open? Gross. Also, I don’t think food should be gray.”
He laughed. “I respect it,” he said before smoothly changing subjects. “It’s all a performance with Laurie, by the way. ‘Look at me, the poor jilted mayor. Don’t think about my office’s audit investigation that showed evidence of misappropriated funds.’”
“Wait,” Mary said. “You don’t just think the relationship was fake, you also believe that this cheating incident was part of the plan to garner public sympathy?”
“It’s convoluted but not impossible.”
“I saw footage of him leaving city hall this afternoon, and he looked genuinely crushed.”
“Surprise! The professional liar is good at faking sincerity.”
“Okay, but that sort of arrangement would need unbelievable coordination not just from the couple but also the matchmaking agency, and the agency wouldn’t knowingly get involved in the kind of scheme you’re suggesting.”
“Why not? They get to say the mayor was a client of theirs. It gives them credibility. Some prestige. Name recognition. Which potentially means more clients.”
“In the short-term, maybe,” Mary said. “But clients love an agency with a high success rate, and an agency wouldn’t risk that for a high-profile engagement they know from the start will end.”
Ruben made a contemplative sound.
“Also,” she continued, “I can’t imagine why they would knowingly risk having that arrangement going public. It would destroy trust with their main clientele.”
“Fair points,” he said.
Remembering her pasta, Mary moved to attend to it and found the bottom had slightly burned.
“I should get going,” she said to Ruben after confirming with the clock that she’d been on the phone far too long. “Enjoy your fungi-filled dinner.”
Ruben laughed and told her to have a good night as they hung up. A residual buzz clung to her for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t actively dwell on the conversation or how she felt. It was a one-off chat. Nothing untoward.
The following day, just before noon, the receptionist stopped Mary in the hallway. “Your lunch delivery is on the counter in the lounge,” she said.
“I didn’t order anything,” Mary replied. “Are you sure?”
The receptionist shrugged. “Your name is on it.”
Mary headed to the break room and straight to the lone takeout bag. She felt a curious stirring in her chest reading the order sticker: Vegetable pot pie. NO MUSHROOMS. There was a grin on her face the entire time as she opened the box to the cartoonishly perfect pie emanating herby savory heat. On the first bite, she agreed it was life-changing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The decision to send Mary a pot pie came to Ruben when they were on the phone the night before. He’d thought it would be a fun gesture, something that would make her laugh.
According to the delivery app, the pie had successfully arrived at Mary’s workplace over forty minutes ago, and he worried that someone had gotten to it before her. He also wished he could verify that the restaurant substituted the mushrooms out for another vegetable. Had he overstepped in some way by sending her the pie altogether? Maybe he should’ve given her a heads-up.
Too brain-clogged to focus on the work in front of him, Ruben got up from his desk to make himself a cup of tea, and when he returned, a text from Mary was waiting for him. Incredible. Thank you, it read with an attached picture of the half-eaten pie.
The tension that had gripped Ruben’s neck all morning slowly loosened as he read her message again. He wrote back, Glad you’re liking it!
“What did you say?” Chesa asked, her head suddenly popping over the partition between their cubicles.
Ruben stashed his phone underneath a stack of papers. “What?”
“I thought you were saying something to me.”
