Page 25 of The Breakup Broker

The words hung between us, heavy with a history I’d tried so hard to forget. James Morrison was the only person in Henry’s family who saw me.

“I’m sorry.” The words were hollow, inadequate. “I had no idea he was sick.”

“He doesn’t want people to know.” Henry looked down at his coffee cup. “He wants to go out on his own terms, like always.”

“Sounds like James.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “But I still don’t understand. Why me? Why now?”

“Please, Savvy.” His voice carried an urgency I’d never heard before. “He doesn’t have much time left. And this ... this is important to him. He’s at Madison Center.”

I watched the sun glinting off the Hudson, remembering all the times James had defended me to his son, how he’d slipped me books he thought I’d enjoy, complete withhandwritten notes about why each story reminded him of me.

“Fine.” I set my coffee down, needing my hands free to maintain my composure. “I’ll see James. But that’s it. One visit, one conversation, and then we return to our separate worlds.”

Relief flashed across his face, followed by something harder to read. “Thank you. I’ll pick you up at five.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” I gathered my coffee and bag, every movement measured and controlled. “I’m doing it for the only Kingston who ever thought I belonged in your world. Don’t bother picking me up. I’ll take the train.”

I walked away. Behind me, the river flowed like it had for five years without Henry Kingston. The same way it would keep flowing long after this moment.

My phone buzzed as I reached the bottom of the path.

Maddy

Well?

Me

His grandfather wants to see me.

Ivy

James? The only good one in the family?

Me

The same.

Maddy

Are you going?

I stared at the question for a long moment, remembering James’s kind eyes and quiet wisdom.

Me

Yes. But not for Henry.

Ivy

Remember—you’re not that girl anymore.

Maddy

No. You’re the woman who built a career out of other people’s endings. Don’t let him make you forget that.

I caught my reflection in a store window. They were right—I wasn’t that starry-eyed college girl anymore. So why did one coffee with Henry Kingston make me feel like she was beneath the surface, waiting to believe in forever again?

But as I headed home to change, I couldn’t remove the memory of his voice saying my name.

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