Page 77 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“Are you sure?” she asks with a lilt of anticipation in her voice.

“Absolutely,” I say. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, I am unlocking the door to my office and closing it behind me. I go through the typical rituals, turning on enough lights so that we can see but keeping it dim enough not to be overwhelming. I put some bergamot and vanilla in the infuser, purposely choosing cozy scents over anything relaxing, like lavender, because at this point, it would probably put me to sleep.

There’s a sudden rapping on the glass door, and I pad over to open it. “Sorry, I’m in my pajamas. I was already winding down for the evening, but please come in.”

I trail off and my smile filters only slightly. But it’s because Ashley is not alone. There is a man with her. And guessing by the looks on both of their faces, it’s not just any man. It’s her husband.

“I hope it’s okay that I brought my husband along,” she says meekly as they step inside.

I find that I have to force myself to blink, and I shake my head with a smile.

“Of course it’s okay,” I insist. And it truly is. I am just a little shocked, is all. “Please come in,” I invite them, moving out of the way.

It’s interesting the difference in her persona standing here with Michael versus the way she was the night I met her. Based onthe schedule, I think they’ve been to therapy with Allegra twice by now, and as cliché as it sounds, I see a difference. In her anyways. I don’t know him very well, but I think that might be about to change.

“Thank you again for agreeing to see us on such short notice,” Ashley says.

“And so late,” Michael adds.

“Of course,” I nod. And I truly do mean it. Then I gesture at their outfits. She is wearing a red dress, and he’s in a three-piece. “You look nice. I feel underdressed.”

“We just came from the House of Hemingway,” Michael says, referring to a speakeasy about thirty minutes from here known for literary-based cocktails, high-end small plates, and, of course, poetry readings. He doesn’t strike me as a poetry man. But as he sits here in front of me, his hands on her knee, he does strike me as a man who is still in love with his wife, no matter how bumpy the road has gotten.

“Oh, I’ve heard that place is amazing,” I say. “Are you poetry fans?”

“She is,” Michael says with a smile.

“I was an English major before…life happened…” she says.

“I just love the vibe. And the food. The ahi nachos are unreal,” he says and they both smile.

“Well, it sounds like you had fun,” I say, and they smile again. “So…”

“So we wanted to meet with you,” Ashlyn says. “Because after going to therapy…”

“We don’t want a divorce,” Michael states, and I have to resist my urge to jump up and down.

“That’s…great…” I laugh and they do too.

“Now, all that said,” Ashley says. “We know now that we need help. Obviously, we wouldn’t have ended up where we are if we hadn’t. So we are going to continue therapy.”

“Your friend Allegra is amazing,” Michael says.

“She’s my favorite,” I agree. “But I am biased. And I think it’s great you want to keep doing therapy.”

“But there’s one other thing,” Michael adds, and I study them both. Then I get up.

“Hold, please…” I say as I walk over to the cabinet. “Now Michael, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Although I already know what she’s doing…” Ashley says.

“Well now, I’m a little worried.” Michael says as he watches me. But when I produce a bottle of wine from the cabinet, he doesn’t look too upset. “Do you always drink with your clients?”

“Only the ones that passed the first test,” I tell him. “That test being the one that decides whether therapy is a better route than divorce.”

“Cheers to that,” Ashley says, and I poured the glasses of wine. Then I sit back down and look at both of them. My tone grows a little more serious.