Page 5 of Pretty Little Thing

Trix blows a kiss. “We love you.”

“Bye,” he says, tossing another wink in our direction.

He wanders through the restaurant toward the exit, leaving Melanie fuming in her chair.

“Would you guys please stop being so nice to him?” she asks. “You’re gonna give him self-esteem.”

Trix cackles. “What the hell was that about? Did you two wake up together again?”

The server slides in, sets down another round of mimosas, and takes off just as quickly. He’s working for that tip today. Good boy.

“Four months,” Melanie says, yanking her jacket off. “It’s been four months since our divorce was finalized and that bastard still lists me as his emergency contact.”

I take a fresh drink. “What’s up with his hand?”

“Well, I was up all night writing, as usual,” she begins. “Got to a really great stopping point and passed out around five to get a good bit of sleep before brunch. Two hours later, I get a call from some nurse telling me that my husband was injured at work. Right away, there are red flags. One, husband. And two, work. Robbie’s never held down a job before in his life. I never even heard him say the word unless it immediately followed blow. Obviously, there was some kind of mistake but she insisted on me coming in anyway. So, I dragged my ass down to the hospital and there’s Robbie with a nail sticking through his hand.”

We gasp. “Oh, my god!”

Melanie downs a gulp of her mimosa. “At that point, I realized injured at work was Robbie Code for got wasted and did something stupid so I just stood there while the nurse made flirty eyes at him until the doc patched him up and let him go.”

Trix raises a brow. “Why do you care if the nurse was making flirty eyes at him?”

“I don’t...” Melanie says, sitting up. “I just think it’s inappropriate in that setting for a medical professional to come on to her patients, especially in front of his ex-wife who wants to watch him suffer a life of pain and anguish and die alone. It’s a very complicated emotion. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Trix shrugs. “Good. Because I don’t.”

“And who works on a Sunday, anyway?” she asks. “His lie — much like his hand — was full of holes.”

“I do,” I say with a sigh. “Right after this, I have to go into the office. The new temp screwed up some paperwork again so I have to rush and fix it before tomorrow’s budget meeting.”

“Can’t you just get a new temp?” Trix asks.

“And be forced to re-train another idiot all over again? No, thanks.” I stretch my neck to the side, taking a deep, relaxing breath that doesn’t do its job. “Honestly, I’m blowing it out of proportion. It’s an easy fix. I just need to hold his hand for a little while longer until Ira gets back from paternity leave. He’ll get it eventually.”

Melanie flashes a knowing smile. “That sounds perfectly reasonable of you, Nora.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Patient. Wise.”

I point my thumb at my face. “That’s me.”

She smirks. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“Fucking gorgeous.” I fall forward, feeling a wave of heat in my cheeks. “It’s like Gaston had a love child with Captain America. I can barely concentrate.”

Trix chuckles. “Well, in that case, maybe you screwed up the paperwork.”

“You bite your tongue. And...” I pause. “Yeah, maybe. Hot temp aside, I’ve been so damn stressed out lately. I don’t know what to do. Yoga doesn’t work anymore. My massage therapist fired me.”

Trix gasps. “Lenny fired you?!”

“Apparently, four AM house calls are outside of his job description,” I explain.

Melanie creases her cheek. “Have you looked into meditation?” she asks.

“Oh, you mean the sit quietly and reflect on everything I’ve ever done wrong happy hour?” I joke. “Nope.”

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