Page 46

Rhys

M y court appearance in NYC is a nonevent, the final hearing in an uncontested divorce. I probably could have talked the judge into letting me Zoom in for it, but the client thanks me at least ten times for coming, so ultimately, I’m glad I did.

I think of Matias telling me that divorce is a sacrament, and I look at my client, who carries herself like I’ve personally lifted a thousand-pound weight from her shoulders, and I think, I may be cynical, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

It’s my job, lifting that weight off people. Unburdening them.

This is my job. This is my life. New York is where I belong.

I haven’t let myself think about where I’m going with Eden, but there has to be a reckoning at some point. Because this part of my life does exist. And because, fundamentally, I’m still afraid of hurting her.

I’m still the guy who, when it came down to a ring and a wedding and the possibility of forever, walked away because my gut screamed no so loudly I couldn’t ignore it.

If I try again with Eden, she’ll be the one I’m hurting this time—and I can’t stand the thought of that.

Eden walked into things with me with her eyes wide open. She knows who I am and what I’m capable of—and not. The other day she backed me up when I told Matias no.

I’ve had enough marriage and almost-marriage for a lifetime .

So it’s not like she thinks I’m a good bet, either.

I pack up my messenger bag. I put on my coat—New York is having an early fall day—and sling my bag over my shoulder. I say goodbye to my client, shake opposing counsel’s hand, and stride out of the courtroom.

And nearly crash into someone.

“Fay?”

“Ha,” my ex-girlfriend says. “I wondered if I’d run into you.”

Right. It’s the courthouse where we first met.

“What are you here for?”

“Filing a motion in an upcoming case,” she says. “You?”

“Final hearing.”

“You won?”

“Of course,” I say. Habit.

Fay smiles at that. She’s tall and slim with dark hair neatly pulled into a bun and fingernails painted an elegant pale pink.

I remember thinking she was beautiful, the way you can recall being feverishly sick without being able to summon up the sensory experience at all.

“Ah, so you’re ending another marriage. Always were cynical about that institution. ”

She says it wryly, without malice, but there’s a sadness in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Fay. I was— I should never have let it go on as long as it did, knowing I couldn’t?—”

She’s shaking her head. “I know you were—trying. I’m the one who should have known better. I knew how you felt, and I pushed and pushed. I was the one who kept hinting about ring shopping and a proposal, even knowing that I wasn’t going to be the one who changed your mind.”

“Still,” I say.

“Apology accepted.” Her smile widens. “Also, thank you . Because I’m engaged now, actually.

” She flashes a ring in my direction, and I catch a glimpse of a rainbow of semi-precious stones.

“And if things had worked out between you and me, I wouldn’t have met her, and that would have been a crime against humanity, because she’s terrific. ”

My eyes widen.

“We met on a dating site,” she says, grinning at my surprise. “On a whim I said all genders , even though I’d never thought I’d be into anyone except men. It turns out it pays to be open-minded.”

“Wow,” I say.

“Oh, yeah, so, belatedly: I’m bi.” She beams.

I open my mouth and close it again. “Ah.”

She rolls her eyes at my inability to utter more than one useless syllable at a time, but she’s laughing. “And you? I assume you’re still convinced marriage is a remediable evil?”

“I—”

That’s as far as I get before words fail me.

Her eyebrows go up.

“You’re not married ,” she says.

“No.”

“Engaged, then.”

“No.”

“But thinking about it?”

An image pops into my mind. Eden. Crouching at the family dinner, hand on Gus’s head, smiling up at Quinn.

“No…”

It comes out far less solid than the last two nos.

The corner of her mouth turns up. “But…?”

I shake my head.

She tilts hers.

“Who is she?” she asks.

I think of all the ways I could answer her question.

She’s the ex-wife of a former client.

She’s someone whose wedding I helped plan—long story.

She’s someone I met when I went home to a town I thought I’d left behind forever.

She’s a quilter and a shop owner.

She’s feisty and joyful and stubborn and indomitable and sexy ? —

Fay is staring at me. And all at once, I’m pretty sure I know the answer. The only possible answer. It might be a cruel thing to say to a woman I was almost engaged to. I’m not sure. I only know that it’s true.

“I think,” I say carefully, “she’s the one who’s going to change my mind about marriage.”

She grins. “I’m happy for you.”

“I didn’t think that person existed,” I say. “The one who could change my mind.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her grin gets even bigger. “I guess we don’t until we meet them.”