Page 51 of My Best French Wedding

The stairwell was empty. Hildy let the door clang behind her as she hurried to the elevator. According to the light-up display, Walter was halfway to the ground floor.

Fine. If the universe didn’t want her to catch him, Hildy wasn’t going to embarrass herself by tearing down the stairs barefoot, shrieking his name. This was probably just Walter’s way of psyching her out—showing up at her magazine to act all mysterious and broody. Hildy could do the same back at him… as soon as she figured out where he worked.

“Why are you running around like your hair’s on fire?” Corinne asked, stepping out of the break room with a bag of microwave popcorn.

Hildy stomped into her office, collapsing onto the couch. It felt like she’d just finished a ninety-minute barre workout. “Walter was here.”

Corinne bent to peer under Hildy’s desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for blood and body parts. Or your underwear.”

Hildy rolled her eyes. “Allegedly he stopped by as a professional courtesy.”

“What did he really want?”

“To get in my head.”

Corinne huffed at that. “Waste of time.”

“I know, right? Like I’m going to let him mess with me again. Fool me once, etcetera.”

“It was a waste of time because he already lives there rent-free.” She tapped her temple for emphasis.

“I think I know why he showed up,” Hildy said, ignoring the unsolicited commentary. She frowned at her co-worker’s gargoyle impression. “What is that face?”

“Inside me there are two wolves.” Corinne pressed her fingertips to her sternum. “One doesn’t want to encourage this weird obsession, but the other knows she needs to be ready to stage an intervention. Let’s hear it.”

“Maybe it was a cry for help.”

“You think Walter Burns came toyoufor help? Out of all the millions of people in this city?”

“Yes, Corinne.” She needed to revisit the idea of getting aKEEP UP, PEOPLET-shirt. “Of a certain kind. That only I can provide.”

“You know sexual healing is not a real thing, right?”

“I’m talking about forgiveness. What if he came to apologize?”

“Did he apologize?”

Hildy shook her head.

“Then that kind of undermines your theory.”

“It’s possible he was distracted.” Hildy brushed a stray crumb off the couch so she wouldn’t have to see Corinne’s expression.

“Listen. I’m all for the two of you sorting out your shit, but if it hasn’t happened by now, maybe it’s time to let go of that—” She paused, circling a hand as she searched for the right word.

“Vendetta?” Hildy guessed.

“I was going to say ‘dream,’ but sure. Let’s go with your version.”

Hildy knew when she was being humored, but decided to let it ride. She had always preferred her tough love in very small and occasional doses, like a vitamin C supplement for her common sense.

Maybe Walter was like chicken pox: one of those viruses that never really go away once they get into your bloodstream. The important thing was to remember she’d been inoculated against him a long time ago.

18Hildy