Page 28 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

“You know what I mean.”

His brows rose. “Do I?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have baggage. No one reaches the age of twenty-five without at least a carry-on’s worth of issues. And you’re—how old are you?”

“Thirty-two,” he said, looking thoughtful. “So what’s wrong with you?”

She wasn’t blind to her own flaws. If anything, writing romance and constantly creating realistically flawed characters from scratch had made her intensely aware of her own. But that didn’t mean she relished talking about her own imperfections. If that made her a hypocrite, add it to the list. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

“Fine. What is it about me that screams flawed to you?”

It wasn’t so much flawed as it was, well... “Let me back up.”

“By all means.” He swept out a hand, giving her the floor.

“When I come up with my characters, I think about what’s happened in their past to make them who they are. They have wounds that cause them to develop fears, and those fears lead to false beliefs. Misperceptions about who they are and the world around them and—and love. Obviously. Everything they do, every choice they make, it all comes back to that. What they want, what they’re willing to do to get it, their personality traits, the choices they make, even their jobs. Sometimes especially their job. And I don’t think we, as people, are any different.”

She grabbed her coffee off the table and shoved her straw down into the ice, crushing the cubes to bits. “Being a romance writer is more than what I do. It’s who I am.” To the point where her self-worth was tied up in it, which couldn’t be healthy, but that was for her to unpack some other time and maybe under the guidance of a trusted professional. “And you’re a divorce attorney—”

“Family lawyer,” he corrected. “But sure, that’s part of it.”

“I’m trying to understand why.”

His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Sometimes a job is just a job, Truly.”

She frowned. Sometimes, sure.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like what I do.”

How could anyone enjoy being a divorce lawyer? Family lawyer. Whatever. “See, I don’t get that. No offense, but what you do sounds awful.”

Day in, day out, all that divorce. It made her queasy.

“Truly.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “You do realize I’m not the grim reaper of relationships, right?”

Well. Of course not. That would be ridiculous. Even if the thought of Colin carrying a scythe into a courtroom did make her smile. “No, but I assume divorce tends to bring out the worst in people. Couples fighting, their lives and love reduced to assets. Kids caught in the middle, bargaining chips. Doesn’t it all get exhausting?”

How had he not lost all faith in love?

The clock on the wall over the door continued to tick faithfully as Colin silently weighed her words, or maybe his, with a thoughtful frown.

“Divorce can absolutely bring out the worst in people, but just because it can doesn’t mean that it always does,” he finally said. “I’ve been doing this for seven years. I know I haven’t seen it all, but I’ve seen enough to know that sometimes letting someone go can be the greatest gesture of love a person can make.”

His answer was predictably heavy, less predictably poignant. Something to chew on, even if she didn’t necessarily agree with it. Or like it.

“Some days, some cases, are worse than others. Mediation, listening to couples bicker over who gets what, that’s never fun. Washington’s a no-fault state, meaning neither spouse has to prove the other is to blame for the separation, but that doesn’t mean my clients don’t like to air their grievances. I get told a lot, more than I need to know, more than I want to know.” He ran his knuckles along his jaw, the faint shadow of scruff there rasping softly against his skin. “But I also handle adoption and guardianship cases, so it’s not all doom and gloom. It’s just my job.” He smirked. “Doesn’t hurt that I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” she taunted, teasing a two-way street. “Arguing?”

“So, you admit it?” He flashed his teeth, smile triumphant. “You think I’m good at arguing?”

She had implied that, hadn’t she? “Point proven, I suppose.”

His smile softened into something slightly less smug, but no less mischievous.

“What?” She looked at him askance. “Do I have something on my face?”

He laughed. “Other than that persistent wrinkle between your brows?”

---