In order to keep Robbie, I need to accept he’s not mine. And in order to preserve our friendship, I need to step back from Robbie now—give myself the space and time to fall for someone else—so eventually Rob and I can be friends the right way.
No more pining.
No more “maybe someday.”
The next time I let myself fall in love, it’s going to be real.
CHAPTER TWO
ROBBIE
The cat clockon Dr. Colburn’s mantel is so loud, I can feel the ticking in my teeth.Tick-schlock. Tick-schlock.
The mechanism’s sticky. Just off enough toschlockwhen it shouldtock. It probably functions fine. In fact, I don’t think anyone would even notice unless they were listening for it. Unless they were, say, counting down every second of fifty long minutes.
I shift in my seat, and the leather protests with a squeal. This might be because this armchair’s meant for normal-sized humans, while I’m built on a slightly larger scale. It might also be because I’m sweating through my jeans.
Across a low coffee table, Dr. Colburn sits in her own chair. She’s tiny, with gray-streaked brown curls pulled back at her neck and smile lines around her eyes. The beaded chain on her glasses catches the late-afternoon sunlight angling through the window, showering the floor with sparkles when she moves. She holds a steaming mug of chai in both hands that makes the whole office smellspicy, and she made sure I had a glass of water before we sat down. There’s not a soul on Earth less intimidating.
I wipe damp palms on my thighs.
“So, Robbie.” She looks over her glasses and smiles encouragingly. “How’ve you been since our last session?”
“Good.” I nod automatically. “Insanely busy. First day of spring hits, and suddenly, people forget fire safety, you know? And we have a couple new volunteers on the crew, which— Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t’ve saidinsane,should I? That’s ableist.” I straighten my long legs and bang the table hard enough to make my water slosh. “Ah, crap, I said fuck.” I grab a Kleenex and mop at the water.
Dr. Colburn shakes her head, amused. “Relax.”
“I’m relaxed. Totally.” I can’t see a trash bucket, so I wad the Kleenex into a damp ball in my fist. I guess it’s mine now. “How’veyoubeen? I saw a bunch of new teas on the menu at the Sugar House. Have you checked them out?”
Her smile softens. “This is your timeto talk aboutyou, Robbie. Or if you don’t want to talk, you can read, or doodle, or simply sit?—”
“Yeah, I remember you saying that. But we can talk. Totally.”
I wonder whether anyone takes her up on the offer to doodle for an hour and how she feels if they do. Seems like such a waste of everyone’s time.
Kinda likemebeing here.
When the Winsome town council first suggested applying for the grant that would giveall first responders a health insurance break if us full-timers committed to twice-a-month therapy sessions, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. I respect how important therapy can be, for sure.
But this is my second session, and I can tell you I’d rather run into a burning building than talk about myself for a whole hour. I mean, what am I even supposed to say? I have a good life. A great career, a beautiful fiancée, the best friend in the world, a community of weird but supportive Winsomefolk. Besides, I hate dwelling on negativity, and that’s what it feels like when I start dredging up problems.
I think Dr. Colburn and I both know I’m wasting her time when she could be helping someone who really needs it.
Tick-schlock.Tick-schlock.I try not to look at the mantel or count down the remaining minutes—forty-two—because that feels rude.
Dr. Colburn takes pity on me when the silence stretches out. “So, what’s been on your mind? Anything else interesting happening at work? Or… not at work?”
I shrug. “A couple of volunteers joined our crew, like I said. That throws off the crew’s dynamic a little, but we’ll adjust. Oh! Lissa and I set a wedding date. For August. So that’s fun.”
“Congratulations,” she says warmly. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Great. It’s a lot to do in a short time, but Liss has a whole vision she’s executing. Which is perfect ‘cause I’m not great at that stuff.”
“At wedding planning?” She laughs. “I don’t know many people who are, at first.”
“Right? But like, color schemes, centerpieces… I could stare at them for hours and genuinely convince myself that each was the best choice. It’ssomuch easier when someone else knows what they want.”
She makes a note on the little yellow pad that’s tucked down the side of her chair, and I sweat a little. Like I’m being graded on my performance.
