Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Anton and Seth Richie are the last two people I expect to see outside my apartment door Sunday morning when Rufus and I return from our walk. Lydia’s husband stands tall, chiseled, and broad-chested, looking like He’s Just Ken, with his matching blond brother waving behind him.
“Hey, Caprice.” Seth grins. “Richie brothers furniture moving service here. We have been instructed to remove your couch?”
I blink, my brain running sluggishly through recent conversations and landing on a shadowy memory of this plan. I automatically reach for my leggings pocket, only remembering as I find it empty that I left my phone somewhere under said couch.
“Where’s Lydia?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Anton avoids my scrutiny, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair.
In answer, the elevator dings behind me, and out steps my somehow more-pregnant-looking-than-last-week best friend.
She smiles and comes down the hall, wielding a bag of what I’m one hundred percent certain must be dog supplies.
“Good morning!” she says, beaming way too brightly for someone with restricted caffeine. “I came to pick up my car. And as promised, I brought the couch removal crew.”
“I . . . remember that now,” I mutter, taking the bag out of her hands.
She raises her eyebrows. “Has there been a change of plan?”
I look down at Rufus, who is currently eyeing Anton with what looks like suspicion—this dog just keeps growing on me.
But when I think about him crammed under the remnants of my sofa last night like he was hiding from incoming mortars, I frown.
There isn’t enough money in my bank account to purchase furniture right now, and there isn’t going to be before the next thunderstorm.
“I just think it makes more sense to wait until I get a new one,” I say, not wanting to rehash my night while we’re standing in the hall. “Guess you’re off the hook, boys.”
The Doublemint twins look at each other and shrug.
“Wanna grab a game of squash?” Seth asks.
Anton hesitates, glancing uneasily at Lydia, who gives an exasperated laugh. “Oh my God, go. I don’t need you to stand here and watch me be pregnant. I’m going to hang for a bit with Caprice, then I’ll drive myself home. I’ll be fine. Have fun!”
Her husband reddens a little, but embraces her like she’s made of solid gold, kissing her cheek before disappearing with his brother down the stairs.
“You guys are gross,” I mutter, unlocking my apartment door.
Lydia just smiles, following me in, waiting until I disconnect Rufus’s leash before giving him a proper Lydia Richie greeting. This involves several treats and a game of tug, after which she actually looks winded and perches on one of the less-destroyed portions of my couch.
“Now,” she says. “Tell me the real reason you’re keeping this monstrosity.”
I fill my water bottle at the fridge, closing my eyes in an effort to center myself. “Okay. So, that thunderstorm we had last night . . . ?”
Realization dawns on her face as she brings her hand to her mouth. “Oh no. We were—Anton made me turn off my phone. Did you call me? Did he freak out?”
I shake my head, watching her grip her belly. “It wound up being okay.”
Her shoulders relax a little, but worry lingers in her eyes. “Sorry. He did this whole elaborate romantic evening with candles and melted chocolate and whipped cream . . .” She smiles to herself, then glances at me, face instantly reddening. “Um, I knew turning off the phone was a bad idea.”
“It’s okay, Lydia. I—I called Drew.”
Her mouth immediately clamps shut. She studies me. Then, after at least half a minute, she speaks with a measure of caution. “And that went . . . well?”
I sink onto the more-damaged portion of the couch, drawing my knees to my chest. “If you’re asking if it was awkward and uncomfortable, but we managed to help Rufus, then yes?”
Lydia knits her brows. But then Rufus pads over from the water dish, rests his chin in her lap, and gazes up with literal puppy dog eyes. She dissolves into adorations, totally disregarding the water dripping all over her leggings.
“He seems to have recovered,” she finally says, stroking down his neck.
I nod. “Drew wrapped him in this shirt and leggings getup and played music.” I glance toward the door, where the photo of Kyle and me used to sit and the dog clothes still rest in a neatly folded pile.
“But before that, Rufus was hiding under the couch, and . . .” I exhale.
“Drew said it was important not to take away his safe space.”
Lydia hums in approval. “He’s probably right.” She plucks at some of the stuffing spilling out next to her thigh. “How’s the furniture fund? You still working on that Unmatched article?”
The way she asks is so casual. If I didn’t know her well, I might’ve missed her uneasiness altogether.
“It publishes this week,” I say, a knot twisting in my stomach.
She swirls her hands over her belly and releases a low breath. “Okay. Good to know.”
I study her with suspicion. “I swear to God, Lydia, Anton better not be back on that fucking app—”
“He’s not,” she says quickly. “We’ve talked about it in therapy.
And actually—I know this won’t garner sympathy, but his guilt is overwhelming—he realizes he made the biggest mistake of his life when he went on Unmatched.
If anything, a new article is going to intensify his shame.
” She swallows. “It’s really weird feeling sorry for someone who feels guilty for causing you significant pain. ”
I sneer. “Well, I have zero sympathy. He deserves to simmer in his regret. I hope he never forgets he almost lost the best thing he ever had.”
She sighs, arms still wrapped tightly over her rounded midsection. “Well, anyway, thanks for the heads-up. I hope the new article holds the right people accountable and earns you a raise.” She returns to her comfort zone, refocusing on the dog. “Now, what else did Drew Forbes suggest for Rufus?”
My breath stutters. “Um, he didn’t? He left immediately this morning.”
“Oh,” she says, and I don’t miss the way her tone lilts up. “He was here all night?”
There is zero reason I ought to feel anything other than annoyed thinking about that, but my face still heats when she asks. Until I remember his exit. And the picture frame now sitting broken in a drawer.
“It was a really long storm.”
She nods, stroking Rufus’s nose and staring down into his eyes. “Hmm. Well, Drew Forbes’s reputation may precede him. But if he cared enough to stay all night with you and Rufus . . . I might have to revise my opinion of him.”