Page 104 of The Wedding Situation Romance

Her practice is exactly what I was expecting–a small house turned into an office. There’s even a cute front porch. The front room is set up as a waiting room; there’s a marked bathroom,and the bedrooms are all labeled for three different therapists. Hers is at the forefront, probably because it’s her practice.

It’s homey, warm, inviting, and very Allegra.

“Sorry about that, I was just…” she stops and her smile falters slightly as she comes out of her office and looks at me. “Oh. Reid. Or…is it August?” she asks.

“My friends call me Reid. It’s up to you,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Reid it is then,” she says with all the warmth of a therapist and none of the resentment of a woman whose best friend I’ve scorned. “You want to come in?” she asks.

“In…your office?” I ask.

“Or we can sit out here. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” she smiles. Honestly, I’m not comfortable with any of this. And yet…I’m here.

“Your office is fine,” I answer, not wanting to make it weird. Although I am pretty sure I have more than accomplished that already.

“Sorry,” I say as I take a seat in a chair that, based on positioning, is usually the chair she sits in. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to sit on the couch. Where patients sit. Allegra doesn’t seem to mind and sits in the middle of the couch, crossing her legs and tilting her head. Then she waits. “I don’t know why I’m here,” I say.

“That’s alright,” she says. “Is anything directly wrong? Anyone hurt or in danger?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” I tell her.

“That’s good,” she says.

And it is. Except that it means I am going to have to come up with another reason for sitting here.

“The Overholt’s came back into my office today,” I blurt out.

“Those are the clients you shared with Quinn?” she asks, and I half expect her to start writing this down. But she doesn’t. She’s treating this like a normal conversation. Ithinkthat makes it easier somehow.

“Yes,” I answer, and my throat is suddenly feeling like the Sahara. On cue, she reaches into a small fridge and pulls out a water bottle and hands it to me. “Thanks,” I tell her, taking a sip.

“And how are they doing?” She asks after a moment.

“Good,” I breathe out. “Great, really. They…they came into my office today to thank me. For saving their marriage.”

“Wow,” she says with an impressed smile.

“Yeah. Wow,” I echo.

“I bet you weren’t expecting that,”

“No,” I shake my head. Then my eyes flash up to hers. “I’m sure you know this, but I’m not exactly known for saving marriages.”

“There’s talk that implies otherwise,” she chuckles.

“But despite what people think, I don’t get off on watching people’s marriages fail. People rush into marriage. They make mistakes, both with their hearts and their finances, among other things. People are rash all because of some notion that they can live happily ever after, and when things come crashing down, itcauses a lot of pain. And a mess. I help people clean that mess up.”

“That’s no easy task,” she tells me.

“No, it’s not,” I say, easing back into the couch. “Marriage has the potential to destroy people.”

“As does anything that requires the whole of the human heart,” she says. “You sound very passionate about what you do.”

“I am,” I agree. Then I look at her again, studying her. She’s not an easy person to read. But I don’t think it’s because she’s hiding anything. I think it’s the opposite. She has nothing to hide. She is very resolved in what she thinks and feels.

It’s refreshing.

“I don’t know what to think,” I tell her. “About what happened with Quinn. I doubt I need to recap our conversation at the coffee shop.”