“You asked him on Thursday?”
“That’s right.”
“The certificate says—”
“The date has been altered. But the marriage is,” or very soon will be, “real.”
His blue eyes were piercing, not precisely skeptical, more like curious. Eventually, he gave me a single nod. “You have to promise me that you’ll ask for help if or when you need it.”
I didn’t understand his motivation and so I couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “Alex, why do you want to help me? We don’t even really know each other.”
He balked, blinking once like my statement surprised him, and his hands came to his hips. I suspected for a moment he wanted to protest my claim. But then his features relaxed, as though he thought better of it, instead nodding as if to agree.
“I’d say it’s more accurate that you don’t know me.”
A shiver of unease ran down my spine. “Well, that’s cryptic.”
“I’m mucking this up.” He rolled his eyes toward the empty hallway. “This is why I don’t speak.”
Watching him, I realized he was irritated, but the irritation appeared to be directed inward. His statement about never speaking reminded me a little of myself. I often felt that way, like all my words were wrong, and I felt myself soften toward him. It was kind of . . . endearing. Dangerous and endearing? Was that possible?
“I know a lot about you,” he said plainly, but also with a note of gentle earnestness I wouldn’t have believed him capable of moments ago. “Not just from the work I do for Quinn, but also from Sandra. She talks about you. A lot. She tells me her worries and fears for you. She loves you, and that means I’m invested.”
He pressed his lips together and they didn’t exactly form a smile, more like a line that communicated amused surrender. “You don’t trust me. Knowing what I do about you—and that’s not meant to freak you out—I understand why you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either. Believe me, I get it. So trust Sandra instead. Just promise, if you need help, you’ll come to me.”
Thrown by his sincerity, I examined him closely for artifice and found none. “Okay. Fine. I promise to let you know if I—if we—need help.”
“Good.” Looking reassured, he reached for the doorknob and held the door open for me, lifting his chin toward the foil package in my hands. “Is that your lemon loaf?”
“Yes.” I hesitated, then held it out to him.
He took it, his expression still intense. “I’ve been meaning to ask, can I have the recipe?”
I grinned as I walked past him and into the apartment. “Of course.”
“Thanks. And—uh—Kat?”
“Yes?” I turned toward him, bemused by his sudden wordiness.
“This might not be the best time for me to admit this, but I hacked your phone. Sorry,” he said, not looking sorry, but more like he felt like it was important that I know this information.
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It was supposed to be a joke, but afterward, I wondered if you’d be upset.”
“Upset? Of course I’m—wait, why did you hack my phone?”
“Dan and I are always pranking each other. When I saw you two were married, I changed Dan’s contact name to Husband in your phone. And, on Dan’s phone, I changed yours to Wife.”
Alex hacking my phone and changing Dan’s name to Husband was the second best news I’d had all week. The first best was—of course—Dan agreeing to marry me.
Giving into the urge to celebrate renewed confidence in my own sanity, I indulged in two lemon drops and didn’t turn down the offer of a third.
So when Sandra suddenly declared, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room,” I set my drink on the coffee table and turned a hazy smile in her direction. Knowing Sandra, this could mean literally anything, including an actual elephant.
But then Sandra said, “Anal.”
And I laughed, recognizing that it might be the only time in my life I laughed after the word anal.
“Sandra.” Fiona, sitting in the recliner on my left, made an exasperated face though her tone was even; she didn’t glance up from her knitting.
Her reaction didn’t surprise me. Fiona was difficult for me to describe because nothing ever flustered her. Due to this, she’d always been a bit of an enigma. Especially since I felt like I couldn’t make it through twenty-four hours without being flustered.
She was older than me by more than a decade, had two well-adjusted, gorgeous children, and a brilliant husband who was madly in love with her. She always seemed to know exactly the right thing to say and had her shit together at all times, especially during impossible situations. Her husband, Greg, often teased that she was a robot. I could definitely see his point.