Page 102 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

Just then, a tall, tank of a man with shoulder-length hair arrived in the doorway.

“Oh! This is Felix. Felix, say hi.”

Felix held out his large hand to shake mine.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Felix’s eyes were full of empathy. “I’m so sorry you’re sad, Abby.” He kissed Finch’s cheek goodbye and then waved to me.

“Th-thank you,” I said, watching him walk down the stairs to the parking lot. I looked to my friend, who was watching him, too, but with a smile. “Finch and Felix?” I asked.

Finch’s smile disappeared, “Oh, shut the hell up and come cry on my couch. It’s too late for Mimosas so I’m making pom-tinis.”

I followed him in, closing the door behind me. Travis and I had helped him move in one Saturday, but I hadn’t seen it since he put it all together. And it was … very Finch.

Clean and minimalist but with a touch of modern. Books stacked in single file up the wall next to the hallway door, plants in every space, large, cushy throw pillows on the couch begging me to cuddle them.

So, I did.

Finch busied himself in the kitchen, talking to me over the bar.

“So, fight with Travis. He had the … you know, the thing tonight. Was it about that?”

“Yes.” I sniffed. “He wants a divorce.”

“Ah, he’s trying to spare you.”

“I guess,” I said, wiping my nose with my sleeve.

“Dear God, there are tissues right there, Abby. You’re not a toddler, use them.”

I leaned over to his white side table and pulled a few tissues from the box. “Felix seems nice.”

“Heisnice. The nicest man I’ve ever dated. He never gets jealous, or mad. Ever. He just … communicates. It’s bizarre! I need a little drama. I mean, c’mon, it’s me.”

“Maybe you’re just comfortable in the chaos. Maybe you need to realize that peace isn’t boring. What I wouldn’t give for a little peace.” I dabbed my eyes.

Finch brought our drinks in martini glasses and placed them on the coffee table—atop coasters, of course—before sitting next to me. He stared at me for a minute and then gestured to the drinks. “Well? They’re not going to drink themselves.”

“Oh,” I said, taking a sip, then a bigger one. “Oh. That’s good. That’s really good.” I sat back and took a deep breath.

“Honey, Travis doesn’t want a divorce. He’s a wolf in a trap right now. He’s lashing out.”

I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t like that. He was devastated. He was apologizing and crying and said that maybe one of these days, when he comes back and I don’t hate him, we can try again.”

Finch rested his elbow on the back of the couch, his jaw on his palm, narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, deep in thought. “Travis Maddox was … crying? Okay, he thinks he’s doing this for your own good, but he still doesn’t want to.”

“That isn’t going to stop him, though. I begged him, assured him it was going to be okay, that we’d figure it out like we always do. Nothing worked. He’s set on it.” I felt my eyes burn with tears again.

“He’s not set on it, sister. He loves you. Your wedding is next week, for fuck’s sake. Which, by the way, thanks for scheduling it on my dad’s 60thbirthday. Brilliant.”

“It’s my anniversary.”

“No excuse!” he said, pointing in the air.

“Was my anniversary,” I said with a sigh.

Finch brought his hand back down, tapping his lip with his index finger. “You’ve never been broken up with before, have you?”