End of Story(42)

The bartender leaned in and rested her elbows on the bar. “When I need relationship advice, I go to Charlotte. She’s seen it all. Knows exactly how to get to the heart of any problem. And she’s not bitter.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it was a job you could do without becoming cynical,” I said.

Charlotte shrugged. “I’m a romantic. But I’m also a realist.”

“How does that work?”

“She has a healthy-relationship list,” inserted the bartender.

“I do indeed,” confirmed the lawyer.

“Can I hear it?” I asked.

“Sure.” Charlotte took another bite of her salad, chewed, and swallowed. “You cannot change them. Assume anything you don’t like is here to stay. The same goes for their friends and family.” She ticked off the items one by one on her fingers. And her French manicure was immaculate.

“Ugh.”

“That’s not a good sign,” she said. “But I’ll continue. They might be hot stuff now, but do you have other things in common to help sustain the relationship? Sex and intimacy matter, but it’s only one part of the whole. How good are you at communicating with one another?”

“I think we’re okay. We’re getting better at least.”

“Do you feel comfortable discussing potentially toxic situations or behaviors with them before they escalate?” she asked. “Can you problem solve together?”

“Sort of. Sometimes.”

“Are you both willing to work on the relationship? Are they putting an effort in that is at least equal to yours?”

“Good question. I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Then you move on to having the unsexy discussions about finances and children—if you’re going to have them and how you plan to raise them.” She was running out of fingers at this point. “If you do get remarried, you’re going to need insurance. Have a prenup, an escape plan, and know how marriage affects you legally. Then be prepared to choose each other and keep choosing each other. Every day, week, month, and year for the rest of your life. It’s just that simple and that hard.”

“Wow,” I said. “You’ve really thought all of this through.”

“I see a lot of sad and angry people.” She lifted her cup of water and tapped it against my glass of wine. “Best of luck to you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Can I show you something quickly?”

“You need to make an appointment if you’re after my professional opinion.”

I flattened the certificate out on the bar. “Just take a look. Please.”

With a frown, she cast her eyes over it. “Is this a joke?”

“You’re not the first person that’s asked me that. But no, it’s not. This was found recently during renovations on my house. It was in the cavity of a wall.”

“Oh, really.” She wrinkled her nose. “You seriously expect me to believe that?”

“As weird as it is, it’s the truth. I swear.”

“How much did Colin pay you?”

“I don’t know anyone called Colin.”

She laughed. “Him and his jokes. They’re going to get him in trouble one of these days. The legalities of making something like this... He certainly did a good job. If it wasn’t for the date and so on, I’d have thought it was real.”

“So you believed it was—”

“You can tell my brother that I’m delighted he’s so certain I’ll make partner in the next ten years.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Are you...? You’re Charlotte Yeoh? As in, Johnson, Cavanagh, and Yeoh?”

“Got it in one.” She shook her head with a smile and hopped down off her barstool. “Have a nice day.”

Lars was sitting on the front steps with the cat butting her head against his leg when I got home. He was in jeans, a black tee, and sneakers. No hint of the dust and dirt on him from a day’s work. And it felt right, finding him there. A self-help book I’d been reading talked about how it’s the human condition to struggle for something better. To ignore the moment and want more. This right here, however, was great. My day went from a two to a ten at the sight of him. I don’t know what we were, exactly. But I refused to believe we were doomed. Our friendship at least would persevere. As long as we didn’t get carried away and take it too far.

“I didn’t know you were waiting,” I said, my heart beating harder than it should.

“Figured you’d turn up sooner or later.”

I sat down beside him. It was midafternoon and the street was quiet. The air was thick with the promise of dark clouds gathering overhead. Soon it would storm. But not just yet.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“An hour or so.”

“Why didn’t you text me? I would have hurried.”

He scratched at his stubble. “Honestly...wasn’t sure what I wanted to say.”

“How did the job go?” I asked when he said no more.

“It was fine. Overtime is always useful,” he said. “How was your weekend?”

“I joined an edible garden tour on Saturday and worked most of yesterday. Donated some time to helping a local climate change action group with their online presence.” I smoothed the skirt of my black cotton fit and flare dress over my thighs. Not anxious, just nervous. Because there was totally a difference. “Today I went on a walk through the locks and botanical gardens. Took some selfies and made a couple of videos.”