Page 95 of A Bookish Story

She snorts. “No, only to my heart.”

I’m never prepared for metaphors or hyperbole from non-writers. I don’t know how to respond.

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “I’ll be fine. I was too late, that’s all. If you’re smart, you won’t make the same mistake I did. There’s no better man.”

“Oh, but we’re just⁠—”

She holds up a palm. “Save it. Maybe that’s what you think, but he loves you whether you want him to or not.”

A quake of excitement runs through my body. “You’re wrong.”

“I wasn’t sure he was talking about you, but yesterday he finally told me I should give up on him because there’s someone else.” She narrows her eyes. “Then you showed up at the hospital and he was completely ga-ga. Who else could it be?”

I don’t know who else it could be either, but I also didn’t know my ex-fiancé was having an emotional affair with his coffeehouse crush. I’m not the best judge.

“But if you break his heart, I’ll be back around to pick up the pieces.”

With that she starts down the brick path before she stops suddenly.

“You know, he thinks he looks better without his glasses. Make sure you tell him he looks good with them on. It’s one of those weird male idiosyncrasies. He only behaves this way when he’s in love. I know because it used to be me.”

It’s a loving thing for an ex-wife to say and I’m impressed by her candor. “Okay.”

“I will always love him.” She walks to the curb and gets in her vehicle.

Once she’s out of earshot, I feel comfortable muttering, “Then you should have chosen him.”

When I return, I find Ryan sitting at the dining table, his laptop open. He’s wearing a shirt now, which is a relief, because knowing what I do now, I don’t need to see those abs.

They are logical decision killers.

“You should be resting! What are you doing?”

“Swimming.”

Oh, so he’s back to his smartass self. This I can handle because adorable Ryan is way too attractive.

And he’s squinting.

“Here you go.” I hand the glasses over with the medicine. “Millie dropped these off earlier.”

He slips them back on and winces at the movement. “I have to turn in this revised proposal if I want to get paid.”

“Have you ever heard of dictation programs? Maybe that would help. I’ve heard a lot of authors use them.”

“I’ve never been able to get that to work for me.”

“Have you actually tried?” I stand behind him. “You wouldn’t have to move your arms as much. Just lay back and dictate. Rest and write. All you need is your brain and creativity.”

When he struggles with the bottle of pills, I take it from him and open it.

He pops a pill, grimaces, and slams down some water. “I’m fine.”

“Please don’t be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The one who won’t accept help when it’s offered.”