Page 17 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

I go to sit back down, turning my nose up at the wet spot Maddie left behind, and shift to the other side of the table. “They are nauseatingly happy, aren’t they?”

Ava nods. “Yeah.”

Guilt overcomes me. “I mean, not that you and Trevor aren’t. You are totally like that when he’s here.” I drink my now-cold coffee. “You really miss him, don’t you?”

Her eyes turn sad. “I do. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn’t. Still, though, sometimes when he’s on leave, it’s difficult to get used to a new routine. I run things the way I run things. And when he tries to help out at the coffee shop, he usually ends up just being in the way.”

“How much longer does he have left?”

“Military doctors have to give seven years, not including residency. He started later than most, so he’s still got about eighteen months. But after that, we’ll be set. He’ll never have to leave again. And we won’t have to worry about money.”

“But it makes it all the more difficult to get pregnant. As if you weren’t having a hard enough time.”

She looks in the direction Tag and Maddie went. “It does. Hudson McQuaid suggested he bank some sperm the next time he’s on leave. At least then, I could keep trying while he’s gone.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “As in use a turkey baster?”

She chuckles. “Something like that, but more technical. Sperm doesn’t last long. It’s not like I can just put it in Tupperware and take some out when I feel like it. It has to be frozen and thawed.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Not as expensive as some other methods. Don’t even get me started on those. But I’m not getting any younger, so…” She looks off in the distance.

I pat her hand. “Nonsense. Women are having babies well into their forties these days.”

“Fertile women,” she says. “Not women with inhospitable uteruses like mine. Be that as it may, the current theory is that my uterus and his sperm just don’t play well together.”

I try not to giggle, because this is not a laughing matter. But every time she says inhospitable uterus, I picture little ninjas with swords in her womb, ready to attack any sperm that try to get through. “There’s always adoption.”

Before Ava can respond, Dakota walks up. “Sorry I’m late.” She eyes the wet spot on the bench. “What’d I miss?”

Ava and I look at each other and laugh.

Chapter Six

Lucas

After parking behind Donovan’s Pub, I walk out to the sidewalk along McQuaid Circle. Regan’s shop,Booktique, is across the street, nestled between Ava Criss’s coffee house and the hardware store.

I stroll down the street nonchalantly, window shopping and glancing around every so often to see if anyone is watching. Why in the fuck am I so nervous? I’ve never been one to get nervous around women.

It’s the situation. I’m about to ask a woman to sleep with me for sport. No strings. No feelings. No attachment. She could slap me. Or laugh at me. Or blab to the town what a pathetic loser I am—as if they don’t already know after the whole Lissa engagement thing.

Grow some balls,I can almost hear my brothers teasing.

I loosen my tie and jaywalk across the street. Opening the heavy glass door to her shop, the familiar tinkling of the bell over the door sounds, bringing back all kinds of flashbacks from Friday night.

There’s no hush of voices as I step inside. No eyes turn to stare at me like I’m wildly out of place. In fact, the shop is empty. She’s probably in the back room.

When I was here the other day, it was dim, and I didn’t really get the chance to look around. This place has been here since I was a kid. When Regan’s parents owned it, it was a bookstore, and they made additional income by renting out the apartment upstairs.

Surely I’d been here back in the day, when I was Ryder’s friend and lusting after Regan. The two of them would have toman the store on Saturdays to learn the business and give their parents a day off. But if I’ve been here, I’ve forgotten. That, or the place is just so different now, it’s hard for my brain to reconcile the two.

“Hello?” I call.

There’s no answer. I pass by a small seating area that has a few chairs and a small sofa that looks to be a relic from the eighteen hundreds. I approach the counter. “Regan?” I say louder.

Still, she doesn’t appear. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I walk around the counter and stick my head through the doorway to the back. Empty, and the bathroom door is open, revealing darkness beyond. She’s not here. Who leaves their shop unattended?

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