Page 12 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“Was?” I tease.

Her cheeks go pink and she starts stammering, but before I can fully let her off the hook, Luns is coming close. “What’s the hubbub over here?”

Faye and I lock eyes⁠—

Because hubbub?

Only Luna.

“Aw,” she says, her attention quickly distracted by the photos. “Ollie was so cute.” She picks up a frame. “Was this your husband?”

I nod, guilt from my earlier (and less than charitable) thoughts churning through me. “Yeah.”

“You guys were so young.”

More guilt.

For so many things but most of all because…

I’m here.

And he’s not.

“Yeah,” I whisper, touching the edge of the frame that houses the picture of Ben and Ollie, the former is holding a giggling baby Ollie, and their smiles are contagious.

It’s one of my favorite photos.

“We were high school sweethearts,” I say softly. “And in love like most teenagers—stupidly, that is.” I look up, my lips twitching. “And passionately. So yeah, it’s not exactly a surprise that we ended up with a baby on the way when we were just starting our senior year in college. We got married, Ben finished his degree while I worked and took care of Ollie. I always meant to go back, but the timing never worked out and then I got busy with writing and Ben got sick and…” I shrug. “I had other priorities.”

“Yeah,” Luna says, “I bet.” She reaches forward, squeezes my hand. “Sorry to bring up bad thoughts.”

“Don’t apologize.” I squeeze back. “It wasn’t all bad.”

I realize my misstep even as their faces change.

“Ignore me,” I say. “It’s just that we were young and things were tight and, God, we were young. There were tough times but we loved each other.”

A blip of quiet, then Veronica reaches over and touches my knee. “We know you did.”

Vi nods, her eyes telling me she sees through to the subtext of my words, that she does it far more effectively than any other person in the room.

Not a surprise considering she deals in love for her job.

And the evidence states she’s damned good at it, considering what she says next.

“Sometimes the people we love can’t love us back in the way we need,” she tells me gently. “And sometimes love grows and matures and changes in a way the person you love can’t meet it.”

Faye’s fingers squeeze mine, her lips parting⁠—

“And that’s why Violet is the Blue Line Matchmaker!” Smitty booms.

We all jump and I turn to see the guys standing in the hall.

“Sorry,” Leo says as he walks into the living room. “Ollie was tired, so we wrapped up a little early.”

Harper’s face gentles—and I know mine does the same as he turns to show us Ollie sacked out on his shoulder.

“Sugar cookies!” Smitty’s voice echoes through the room, but my son is already used to his antics and he doesn’t so much as twitch. “Killer!”