Do You Take This Man (73)

“At marriage?”

She nodded. “Seven years. I really loved him, but you know as well as me, love alone isn’t enough. We didn’t talk enough, didn’t communicate about what we wanted, stopped giving each other the benefit of the doubt. It spiraled from there, like we hear from a lot of clients. There’s a lot of things I regret from that marriage. A lot of ways I messed up, but he’s happy now. I’m happy now, and we both probably learned a lot.”

I rearranged what I knew about Gretchen in my head and made a note to smack Eric on the arm the next time I saw him for not telling me that bit of information.

“Why do you ask?”

Well, I came dangerously close to falling for someone and letting down my defenses. “No reason, I guess.”

Gretchen raised an eyebrow but didn’t acknowledge my BS response. “It’s easy to get jaded in our line of work, but I like to think it just makes us more careful with who we trust and how we ask others to trust us.” She glanced down into her glass before finishing it. “I don’t have any expert advice, though. My first marriage was a mess, and I didn’t like who I was by the end of it. If you’re looking for balance, make sure you pick someone with your same desire for equilibrium.”

I glanced over her shoulder and spotted a familiar form at the bar. I thought about pointing him out since they were friends, but I didn’t want Gretchen to suspect what was going on between us. A small part of me wanted him to myself.

“I need to get going,” Gretchen said, checking her watch. “You’ll be prepared to share Monday afternoon with the team?”

I brought my eyes back to her face. Ten years earlier, Gretchen wasn’t the mentor I would have chosen, but she was the one I needed now. We’d talked about strategy for the Mayfield case but shifted to my career. She didn’t mince words, she never sugarcoated anything, and she’d reminded me that eyes were always watching powerful women. She had ideas, though, and I’d listened. She looked at me with confidence, like she knew what I could achieve. “I will,” I said.

She dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Do you want to walk out together?”

I glanced over her shoulder again. I thought again about telling her he was there, but something in his posture gave me pause. Other than to raise his glass, Lear hadn’t moved. “I think I might stay and have another glass of wine at the bar. Don’t want to turn in quite yet.”

Gretchen nodded and walked toward the exit.

I strode to the bar and slid into the empty seat next to Lear. “This seat taken?”

He looked surprised to see me but didn’t smile like usual. I never thought I’d miss the way he always had that annoying grin on his face. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Late meeting.” I glanced at the Scotch in front of him and noted his flat demeanor. “What about you?”

He held up his drink wordlessly.

I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke. “No wedding this weekend?”

He shook his head and sipped from his drink.

“Me, either.” I signaled for the bartender and asked for water. “What are the odds, huh?”

“Pretty slim, I guess.” He didn’t elaborate, just continued to sip from his glass, and the silence between us grew awkward.

An unfamiliar insecurity gripped me. “You want me to leave you alone?”

He shrugged, not looking at me but tossing back his drink. “Do what you want. You always do.”

My stomach clenched like I’d been punched, and my cheeks heated. “Okay.” I stood, pulling my purse onto my shoulder and taking a step away, wanting to leave this interaction and the brief kinship I’d felt for him behind. That last time with him had been hot, and I’d had it in my head that it would make it easier to delineate what he was to me, but by the time we’d had to pull apart, I hadn’t wanted to. I’d spent every day of the last week wondering if he felt that, too, but his dismissive tone said differently. “Okay. See you later.”

“RJ.” He turned and grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t . . .” His eyes trailed down to his hand, still wrapped around mine. He paused there for a moment before opening his fingers slowly, like it pained him. “Don’t go. I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. The embarrassment from his dismissal still stung, but for some reason I felt uncertain, too. For starters, Lear was apologizing, which was something we rarely did. More than that, his hair was kind of messy, like he’d run his fingers through it over and over. His eyes were a little glassy, and he looked . . . sad. I glanced at the empty tumbler on the bar. “How many of those have you had?”

He slid his fingers through his hair. “Too many.”

“Settle up. Let’s go for a walk.”

“You want to walk with me?”

I rolled my eyes, falling into safer territory. “No, but if you get so drunk you fall off a stool and break your arm, I’ll have to deal with some other wedding planner next weekend. C’mon.” I nodded toward the exit.

We stepped out into the warm night. The area around the hotel was busy, and we walked side by side for a few minutes without saying anything. Crossing the street a few blocks away, we strolled into a park, the bustle of traffic fading as we wandered in the moonlight.