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C H A P T E R 2 4
AFTER TWO DAYS of chicken soup, Vick’s VapoRub slathered on her chest, and more sleep than she’d had all year, Libby emerged from her condo feeling human again.
Reagan: Are you sure you don’t want to take another sick day?
I’m pretty sure even the real Cupid took days o .
Libby: I’m pretty sure the son of Mercury and Venus did NOT
get colds or vacation days.
Reagan: First of all, you rattled that fact o pretty quickly.
Impressive. Second of all, if the ancient Romans had labor laws, I’m sure they’d strike for leave time.
As she slipped into the driver’s side of the SUV Reagan and Taylor very kindly recovered for her, Libby laughed.
Libby: Lol. Symbols of love are my stock and trade ;) Speaking of. . . I have an important debriefing with a client today. Wish me luck!
Reagan: Break a heart!
November in Miami brought the first cold front of the year, and Libby was glad she’d fished a heavier blazer from the back of the closet. Sixty degrees wasn’t exactly chilly most anywhere else in the world, but in Miami it was a shock when the day before had been nearly ninety.
As she whizzed toward the o ce in the early morning hours, Libby couldn’t stop thinking about Reagan. Never in
her life had anyone not related to her by blood taken care of her when she was sick. Reagan wasn’t fazed by her runny nose or bloodshot eyes. She was undisturbed by her gross cough and inadvertent naps. Instead of looking put out, she’d watched bad TV with her and made her soup. Libby had never been so happy being miserable in her life.
It was probably her cold that kept any serious conversations at bay. When Reagan showed up every afternoon, they kept it light until she left Libby tucked in bed and half-asleep from cold meds. Neither of them asked what was next for them.
Libby’s stomach relaxed. The not-knowing was comfortable. Not naming what they had eliminated the risk of losing it. She was safe in the muddy waters of Reagan’s company. It was enough. Or so she told herself.
With two big bakery boxes in her hands, Libby stepped o the elevator and strode toward the reception desk to drop them o . Cattle calls of new possible matches for her hopefuls tended to last a while. O ering something special made the wait a little more bearable.
“Well, you’re looking much better,” Taylor said as she joined her in the hallway leading to her o ce. “Dr. Soto’s treatment must have been very restorative,” she added with a sideways glance and a wry grin.
Libby raised an eyebrow but retained her poker face.
“Why Taylor, whatever do you mean?” she asked, doing her best southern accent, which wasn’t very good.
Taylor laughed but gave her a knowing look as Libby strolled into her o ce and she stayed by the door. “Jennifer Borgmann arrived like an hour early. I told her you had something else before your meeting, but she insisted she didn’t mind waiting.”
Stopping in the middle of the act of sitting at her desk, Libby straightened. “Can you push my call with—”
“Already done,” Taylor interrupted. “Shall I bring co ee or tea?”
Smiling, Libby grabbed her leather-bound journal o the shelf. “That depends. How do you think the meet went with Gale?”
“I’ll get the co ee,” she decided, signaling her belief that Jennifer was going to have good news to share. Tea was reserved for the deep work.
When Libby knocked and opened the door a crack, she found Jennifer sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs and staring down at her phone. The smile on her face spoke volumes.
“Libby! I didn’t mean to rush you. I told your sta I was happy to wait,” she said, lunging forward and nearly tackling her with a hug.
Squeezing her back, Libby laughed. “I couldn’t wait to hear how it went! Tell me everything,” she said before taking the co ees Taylor brought and handing her one.
“Well . . .” Jennifer bit back her smile in attempt to play coy, but her joy would not be restrained. “We met for lunch as you suggested.”
Libby leaned forward as she sipped her co ee, willing Jennifer to spill it faster. “And?” she asked when she couldn’t stand the tension for a moment longer.
