Page 87 of Love Expert

“Purveyor. Of. Love! You turned what you two did into a cheap one-night stand.”

“I took care of business! I’m saving her from a fatefarworse than a day or two of stomach aches and hormonal swings. She’s?—”

“She’s not Aria.” He pushes off the board, swipes the entire screen clear, then he brings fiery eyes back to mine. “She’s not your wife, Billy. She’s not even pregnant, and even if she was, she probably wouldn’t die giving birth to it. Aria’s death was terrible, but it’s not like?—”

“Probablywouldn’t die?” I snarl. “You’d bet her life onprobably!?”

“I’m not betting her life on anything! She’s not pregnant. She’s on the pill, which means she probably didn’t need a Plan B either. And she’s smart, so I bet if given half a fucking chance, she could’ve handled that whole situation without you texting her about it thirty-seven fucking times.”

“She…” I press my palm to my aching chest. “How could you possibly know she’s on the pill?”

“Aw, I dunno, bro. Must be that detective brain of mine.” He takes a step closer. “And then there’s the fact I saw her in the drugstore last month, picking up her script. We said hey, I peeped her basket, life went on. She’s in the business of love, asshole, and she’s already killing herself with worry because she’s head over heels obsessed with another woman’s kid. That other woman is a town legend. She died a hero, bringing a beautiful baby boy into the world, marrying the guy Maggie wanted to marry back in the day. You love her, Billy. You and Maggie are fuckingdestined, but she’s already dealing with her insecurities about stepping into a familythat belongs to someone else, and when you finally convince her to stay the night, you reward her by making her feel like a liability.”

“No, I?—”

“Maybe I have no clue what I’m talking about.” He folds his arms and scorches me with a fiery glare. “But I tell you what. If I could move past all the ickiness and accept that my baby sister has relations with guys, and then I found out one of those guys marched her into a drugstore anddemandedshe take a pill she probably doesn’t even need… I’d be swinging already.”

“But—”

“Pretty sure we just closed the case, Detective. She’s not replying to your texts because you’re a prick.”

ROUND THIRTY-THREE

MAGGIE

I drop my things as I walk upstairs: my sweater on the railing, my purse on the steps. I toe my shoes off and leave them where they lay, and because this isn’t the first time I’ve littered on my way upstairs, I snag yesterday’s claw clip and twist my hair up to get the locks off the back of my neck.

My legs ache after pulling a twelve-hour shift. My feet throb, because today was especially busy at the diner, and my period cramps tear me apart, despite the pain-relief I’ve been swallowing every four hours since I woke up this morning.

Still, I make a beeline for my bedroom, through the doorway and across the room until I can whip the curtains aside. Lowering to my knees as tears itch the backs of my eyes, I rest with my arms on the sill and study the collage of perfection Jeremy gifts me with.

His letter states, “I miss you” in giant, block scrawl. He drew a picture of us in the garden, the edges completely covered in purple, with two people in the foreground, him and me, a small purple spray of lavender in my hair, and in the background, a two-story house sits proudly, while a man waits on the porch. Just a shadow, really. He didn’t even warrant Jeremy’s attention to the details.

He’s present, but he doesn’t get to be a part of us.

I swallow a deep breath and sniffle the emotion from my nose, and because this has become a three-day tradition for us now, I glance down at the supplies I keep within easy reach on the floor. Snagging a piece ofpaper and a thick black marker, I turn from the window and sit with my back against the wall. I draw an entire page of cookies. They’re just circles with dots in them, because I never claimed to be an artist, but they’re cookies just for the little boy who deserves a million of them.

I fill the page until there’s no room left, then I grab another sheet of paper, and I write my response.

I miss you, too. How was school? I have cookies for you. I’ll set the container on my porch, so you can come over any time you like and get them. You can even share them with your dad if you want.

Re-capping the marker and setting my supplies aside, I snatch up the tape dispenser and twist back to my knees, take down this morning’s note where I told him to have a great day at school, and replace it with my new messages.

My phone chimes in my pocket, followed by a single vibration, so I snatch it out and sit against the wall once more. Exhaling a long sigh, I scan the barrage of texts I’ve been ignoring for the last hour throughout my drive home.

One is from a guy named Stuart—he’s coming to my house in an hour. He’s left Barlespy already and is on his way, so I hit reply and send a quick ‘see you soon’. Then I move to Eliza’s texts; she wants to know about my next speed dating event, so I type a response out for her, too: ‘next weekend, in Barlespy. I’ll send you the details.’

Billy’s texts are the hardest to ignore.

Hey. I miss you.

Can we talk?

Who was that guy at your house last night? He was driving a silver Honda Pilot. I haven’t seen that car around before, so I guess he was from out of town?

Jeremy keeps coming home with desserts. He SWEARS you’re giving them to him, but I dunno, Magnolia. I’m finding it difficult to believe we even have a neighbor, since I never see you.

I might be off base, but I think maybe you’re mad about the Plan B thing. If you are, I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I’d really like a chance to talk to you about it, so call me back.