“I . . . I . . .” She could think of nothing to say. Longing and fear were twined hand in hand, holding her back. What if she confessed that he was saying all the right things to her and she still loved him, and this was all another trick? What if it broke her all over again?
“I know,” he said softly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it’s hard to believe anything I say, but I’m telling you the truth. And I understand. Here. Take this.” He put his hand in his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Got a pen?”
She reached into her purse, fished one out and held it out to him, still in shock.
He took it and wrote something down on the back. “This is my place here in the city. If you ever want to stop by and say hello, I’d love to have you. Anytime. Day or night. You call and I’ll be there.”
Marjorie nodded, wide-eyed, and took the card as he handed it to her.
Rob touched her cheek briefly, smiled, and walked away.
And Marjorie stood there on the street corner, barefoot and clutching a pen and business card as she watched the man she was terrified to love stroll back out of her life again.
***
For two days, she stewed on what the card meant. She mapped his new address—Park Avenue—and stalked him via Google Maps. She might have taken a shortcut or two outside his building in the hopes of running into him so she didn’t have to make the first move.
And she stared at that magazine picture of him for hours before going to sleep.
Marjorie didn’t know what to do. She was inexperienced when it came to relationships, and felt completely out of her depth. She knew the easiest thing to do would be to call him, or go to his apartment and talk to him. Confess how she was feeling.
And . . . then what?
It was clear she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Anything he told her, she’d believe. So what did she do? Hire a private detective? That seemed . . . ridiculous. Right now it seemed like her options were: trust and hope for the best, or give up on him entirely and nurse the wound until it didn’t hurt.
What was sad was that seeing him again just emphasized how much she was completely, ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with the man, still. It took everything she had not to throw her arms around his neck and kiss the daylights out of him. To beg him to love her half as much as she loved him and to never, ever lie to her again.
But she still wasn’t sure if that was foolish of her. She needed opinions.
So at lunch on day three of her indecision, she met with Brontë and Audrey. It was really just to sit and enjoy talking together. Audrey was Logan’s assistant (or at least she was until she gave birth) and so she naturally spent a lot of time with Brontë. And as Brontë’s assistant, Marjorie was dragged along when lunches were planned, and they liked to go out on Fridays for pasta and to unwind. As usual, they talked about work, books, men, the wedding, and the weather. Marjorie was antsy and quiet as they chatted, waiting for their food.
When Audrey pulled out pictures of her latest ultrasound, Marjorie tore into a breadstick and then could hold back no longer. “Can people change?”
Both women turned to look at her, puzzled frowns on their faces.
“What do you mean?” Audrey asked.
“‘The universe is change,’” Brontë quoted. “‘Our life is what our thoughts make it.’”
Marjorie felt a stab of despair. She didn’t want a philosophical tidbit. She wanted real, honest-to-goodness advice. “Can people change,” she repeated, taking another nervous bite of her breadstick and chewing. It was dry and stuck to the roof of her mouth and she struggled to swallow. “Can the bad guy turn into the good guy? Can people say they’re going to change something in their life, do it, and really mean it? Or do you think they eventually fall back on their old ways?” Gosh, she was going to choke on this breadstick if she didn’t drink something soon. She gulped her water and grimaced. “I’m just wondering.”
“Are we . . . asking about someone in particular?” Audrey asked delicately.
Marjorie shook her head, cheeks burning. Gosh, she was such a pitiful liar, she really was. She was sure she was being incredibly obvious.
But Audrey took pity on her. She smiled broadly and rubbed a hand on her big belly again. “I absolutely believe people can change. Look at Reese.” At Marjorie’s questioning look, she chuckled. “Did you know Reese was a total man-whore back in the day? When I met him, he was in a hot-tub with an heiress, seducing her because he wanted a business deal with her father.”
“That sounds . . . awful.”
“Oh, I hated him,” Audrey said, a dreamy expression on her face that contradicted her words. “We got along like cats and dogs. But the more time we spent together, the more we found that we liked arguing with each other. It was fun. And then we liked spending time with each other even when we weren’t arguing. And then we just liked each other, full stop.” She shrugged and reached for the breadbasket. “We figured out pretty fast that we were miserable without each other, and I think I really started to believe that he liked me when I saw him turning down these gorgeous, svelte women to spend time with plain old me. Now, we’re as happy as can be.” She picked up a piece of bread and took a triumphant bite. “So, yes, I do think people can change. Sometimes they just need incentive . . . or a kick in the pants.”
Brontë giggled into her water glass.
Marjorie wasn’t entirely sure she was convinced. She toyed with the remainder of her dry breadstick. “Yes, but how could you trust him? Weren’t you scared of being hurt?”