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No, that’s not entirely true. While I adore dogs, cats, birds, bunnies, and even lizards, I love people. It’s just that the ones who I thought weremypeople, turned out to only be loyal to each other.
I do another lap around the modern mansion and get lost a couple of times before I find myself in the library, which is nothing like the rest of the house with its stark lines, stone features, and minimalism. This is the stuff of a book lover’s dream. Apart from one wall of windows, the rest are filled with books. There is even a rolling ladder and an antique card catalog cabinet. I’m more of a non-fiction person, but I instantly feel at home in here.
A soft sigh escapes because I’m still carrying around the feminine hygiene pads for Romy’s shoes. I check my phone in case I didn’t hear it beep above the bass-heavy music.
Nope. Still no reply to my spamming her with multipleWhere are yousandI have the goods.
My finger hovers over the text thread with MM. Biting my lip, I open it.
Me: Has the eagle landed?
MM: Are you referring to the big bird or the little one?
Huh? I was trying to be funny, and it fell flat.
Me: Um, not the giant yellow one on children’s television programming.
MM: Military term for helo.
Me: Helo? Do you mean hello?
MM: Helicopter.
Me: Wouldn’t that be technically be heli with a letter I? H-E-L-I-C-O-P-T-E-R.
Ha, that time autocorrect didn’t get the best of me.
MM: Negative. In Special Ops, it’s Helo with an O.
Me: The thing about the eagle was not a result of my fat thumbs. I meant it as code for the rings. The five golden rings! Er, two. Obviously, I’m not as well-versed as you in covert spy speak.
I mean this to be funny but am not sure how it came off as I read and reread my message before MM replies. Should’ve thrown some emojis in there, well, not the heart one.
MM: Copy that. But they’re platinum.
Has this become a military operation? Is the guy guarding the wedding bands with his life? Romy will be pleased.
Me: So, you have them?
MM: Not on my person. They’re safe.
Me: Salami wants eyes on them.
MM: I prefer pepperoni, but is that what you call her?
Me: I meant Romy.
Hanging my head, I can’t help but wonder why I’m nervous, jittery, and having butterfingers—butter thumbs? Am I nervous about texting the best man?
I could really, really use a scoop of butter pecan right now.
Gazing around the library, likely surrounded by poetry and love stories, I realize why. I am a people person, a pet person, and a romance person. One of those is missing from my life at the moment.
The truth is, I’m lonely, and the prospect of being at my ex’s wedding, who is marrying my ex-best friend—because let’s be real, friends don’t do that to each other—only serves to highlight the fact that I’m not married. And it underscores that I was engaged once.
Ethan was my first and only true love. Also in the military, he died in an accident and the happily ever after he promised wasn’t to be.
And here I am, all alone.
