With an uncomfortable twist in my chest, the rejection I sent to Henry this week comes back with painful clarity. A few days ago, heasked me out to dinner again, and (after hyperventilating on the edge of my bed for a while) I responded that while I’d really loved getting to know him, I couldn’t date him anymore. His two-word response (“I understand.”) has haunted me ever since—and not just because of how guilty I’ve felt.
Saying no to Henry felt like closing the back cover on a story I’ve been telling myself my whole life: that I would find my Happily Ever After with someone exactly like him. But now, I’m not sure those kinds of endings really exist. Not when every man I’ve ever put my faith in has now officially broken it.
Except for one, who I’m desperately trying not to put my faith in at all.
We’re walking into the billiard room when low voices coming from a far corner stop my steps. It’s Jude and a tall woman my mother’s age with dark skin, a close-cropped haircut, and bold red lipstick. They’re standing by the large green marble fireplace, both in suits sharp enough to slice through the tightest alibi.
It’s a shock to the system to see him back in his armor after the last time I saw him, half-dressed and sex-rumpled, but somehow, he looks just as good. Better than good—essential. All week, I’ve kept our communication to a minimum, afraid he’ll realize that my insistence on staying cool and unattached was nothing but wishful thinking. But then his eyes meet mine across the room, and my heart starts flapping in my chest like a homing pigeon that just spotted its nest.
“Shiiit,” Sofia whispers. “That’sJude?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah,” I manage, before he and his guest begin walking toward us, looking like the intro sequence ofLaw & Order.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be sentenced to twenty years of incurable horniness?” Sofia whispers out of the corner of her mouth as we watch them.
I elbow her as discreetly as I can as they get close enough to greet us.
“Gracie,” Jude says, his eyes locking with mine before Sofia delicately clears her throat. Blinking, he turns his focus on her. “And I’m assuming Sofia?”
He holds out a hand, and she takes it. “Live and in person. And you must be the infamous Jude Larkwood I’ve heard so much about,” she says, justaskingme to step on her foot.
“My doctor keeps telling me to cut back on the infamy, but it’s a work in progress,” he says, earning a reluctant smile from Sofia. “Ladies, this is my friend and estate planning attorney, Dr. Samara Kincaid. She’s been helping me sort out some loose ends here at Larkwood.”
Estate planning?Planning for what exactly?
“Just Samara,” she says with a smile, shaking our hands in turn. “Sofia, it’s lovely to meet you. And, Gracie, I’ve rarely heard Jude speak so highly of anyone.”
Jude looks down at his polished Oxfords while I swallow my surprise. “I didn’t realize he knew another Gracie,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke instead of a peek into my bottomless well of self-doubt.
Samara looks at me with slight confusion. “You’re the estate’s wedding coordinator, right? The one giving him grief for cutting off an income source for local vendors?”
“Damn right she is,” Sofia says, radiating pride.
I should respond, but a question is snapping at me like a rubber band against my throat—is she helping him plan the sale of the estate?
Samara smiles. “Then yes, you’re the Gracie he’s mentioned. Keep up the good work. I’ve known Jude since he was just a baby law student, and I know how stubborn he can be. But it’s always important to consider both sides of the coin.”
“So does that mean the possibility of keeping Larkwood is still on the table?” I blurt.
Unease flickers through Samara’s eyes before she looks at Jude. He clears his throat.
“Uh, yes. It’s still on the table,” he says, but there’s an unspoken charge in the air. Something has shifted, and I can’t tell if “still on the table” means it’s a lovely centerpiece or on the very edge, about to crash to the floor. Either way, I can’t help my relief at his words.
There’s a soft ping, and Samara looks down at her watch. “Unfortunately, that’s my signal to get going. I’ll see myself out, Larkwood.Don’t get too distracted and forget to send me that paperwork over the weekend,” she says with a small smirk.
“Of course,” he says with a guilty glance my way. “Thanks for coming all this way, Samara.”
“I’m sure it won’t be my last visit,” she says warmly, before bidding us farewell.
Tentative relief is still working its way through me, except now that Samara is gone, there’s no buffer between Jude and my very outspoken best friend, who has no idea what’s developed between us.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Sofia says casually, looking around the opulent room. “Very broligarchy chic.”
Jude smiles pleasantly. “Only the finest accommodations for the Mouth of Hell.”
A surprised laugh jets out of Sofia, before he says, “Gracie tells me you run a community arts space in downtown Providence. Is it KILN?”
Sofia’s eyes light up. “Yup, that’s my baby.”
