The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(43)

A wall of floor-to-ceiling glass doors offered a panoramic view of the city, just like the long, skinny photos sold at Quincy Market. But better because the real thing was always better. Those edgeless doors also showed off a terrace with a serious lack of green.

"You weren't joking about the shortage of living things out there," I said, tipping my chin toward the terrace. It was gray. Just…gray. Whoever designed the masculine-but-comfortable interior flaked out on the exterior.

"What's your recommendation?" Rob asked. He was on the other side of the room, plugging in his phone.

"If you want my recommendation, you need to call my office and make an appointment," I said, mostly joking. "My assistant will walk you through my consultation fees. I'll warn you right now, they're high."

"Worth every penny," he replied.

"This really is sad," I said, sweeping my gaze to each end of the terrace. It was at least thirty feet long, probably ten feet deep. Completely barren. A concrete wasteland. "You have the right exposure for some big containers filled with perennials. Grassy, maybe flowering. Lavender if you can handle the bees. Just something to keep the local pollinators busy. Maybe a Japanese maple or a flowering cherry. Then again, you have space for both. This isn't the right setup for rainwater catchment but we can work out a smart irrigation system, no problem."

His hands landed on my hips. I liked the feel of him there. Strong, capable, certain. I liked him. I didn't need his hands or his tongue to confirm it.

I smiled up at him. "But only if you want more than sad, empty concrete."

"I moved in not too long ago." He blinked away the teasing fun of this moment, replacing it with a solemn frown. It lasted no longer than an eyeblink but I saw every cold, bloodless memory of his exes blow through him. Inside that eyeblink, I felt the sinking devastation of finding yourself a fool. They'd lived together. They were going to be engaged, married. And now I was here and his terrace was a wasteland because none of that existed anymore. He blinked again, forced a laugh, gestured to the living space. "I'm not home enough to take care of anything."

I pointed at his white dress shirt. The man knew how to wear a shirt, I'd give him that. Especially when the collar was open and his cuffs were rolled to his elbows. Mmmmmm. My god. Rolled-up sleeves got me every time. Almost as good as the tie smoothing.

"You pay someone to wash and press these shirts," I said, my hand on his chest because I could. "You probably pay someone to clean this place too. You can pay someone to look after a few potted plants."

"Correct on all counts," he said. "I'll call your office tomorrow."

"You do that," I quipped, laughing. "Let's grab some wine and—" I looked around, not knowing how I wanted to direct these activities. "And, um—"

"Let's just start with wine," he said, tipping his head toward the kitchen.

When I nodded, he hooked his arm around my waist and led me across the open room. His kitchen island gleamed with stainless steel and white marble—and a small mountain of mail. "What is this all about?" I asked.

Rob was busy squatting in front of the wine fridge, two bottles tucked between his chest and arm as he inspected the label on another. "I just don't get to it. Everything I need is online so I'm not missing anything."

"I find that extremely difficult to believe." I shook my head and started sorting. If the guy could tell me the exact specifications of his anatomy and suck my hand in the North End, I could organize his mail. It was fine.

Magazines in one pile, catalogs in another. Assorted junk in the empty fruit bowl. Bills off to the side. Anything that looked vaguely personal went on the opposite side. Rob watched while I did this, a smirk on his lips as he popped the wine, set glasses on the counter, filled them. Never stopped with the smirk.

"Anything good in there?" he asked, sliding a balloon-bodied glass toward me.

"It doesn't matter if it's good," I replied. "You have to go through this stuff. What if there's a birthday card in here from your grandmother or a reminder postcard from your dentist?"

"That would be miraculous since my grandmother's been dead for twelve years."

"But don't forget about the dentist."

Near the bottom of the pile, I found a thick white envelope. It nearly crossed the line from paper into fabric. Rob's name was scrawled across the center in elegant calligraphy. I flipped the envelope over, glancing at the return address as if it would mean something to me. It did not.

"Looks important," I said, handing it to Rob.

Brows furrowed, he tore into the envelope. He stared at the flat card for a long moment as he pulled a deep breath in through his nose and then pushed it out in a whole-body sigh.

"I'm guessing that's not your dentist," I said.

He shook his head, dropped the card and envelope. He flattened his hands on the countertop as he stared up at the ceiling.

I lifted the card and skimmed the ornate lettering.



PLEASE JOIN US TO CELEBRATE THE ENGAGEMENT OF MISTER EDWARD HUNZERT AND MISS MIRANDA LASALLES





I didn't recognize the names, but I didn't need those details to understand the situation. The bride was Rob's ex. He didn't need to tell me; the reaction told me everything I needed to know. And the groom, that was Rob's former best friend.