Page 87 of Mr. Wrong Number

Seeing a cute dog was worth it to her?

I tilted my head and watched her as she baby talked to the dog. She was so alive, bursting with happy energy, that it was impossible not to smile. I felt like this moment with the dog explained a lot about her “bad luck.”

She’d always put herself in ridiculous situations, but was it stupidity or more of a sucking-the-marrow-out-of-life kind of thing? When I’d gotten dumped in college, I’d swallowed the pain and moved on, suffering in stoic silence. But when Livvie got dumped, she had a ceremonial letter burning. It hadn’t ended well, with the fire and subsequent homelessness, but I imagine it must’ve felt cathartic as hell to revel in that moment of pain.

Finneas and his owner left, and Livvie’s smile wavered a little bit as she looked at me. “If you want to skip dinner, y’know, since I’m a mess now, I totally get it. We can drive through somewhere and just head home.”

I shook my head and reached for her hand again. I was suddenly in this weird place where I always wanted a hand on her. I said, “You’re stunning, Marshall. Let’s go.”

She blinked, surprised by my comment, and then she smiled. “God, my impeccable bedding skills have really done a number on you.”

•••

THAT WAS IT.

Holy shit.

The puzzle that was Olivia Marshall had suddenly shown itself to me.

Livvie spilled her red wine all over the table a mere five minutes after we’d been seated, but it was because she was gesturing wildly as she tried explaining to me exactly how her dad had given CPR to a cat who’d been struck by lightning.

It wasn’t that she’d been clumsily oblivious to the glass, it was that she was so present in her own story that she hadn’t had time to notice the expensive crystal stemware that might be in the way.

She was less shitshow and more about living in high-definition, wide-awake, full-on color. Or something more poetic than that. But once I’d seen it, I couldn’t unsee it. It was in everything she did, and it was why everyone was drawn to her the way they were.

For example, after Liv spilled her wine, she didn’t wave over a waiter. No, Olivia pulled a pack of Kleenex out of her purse and tried cleaning the mess herself. When I’d shaken my head at her fruitless attempts, laughing in spite of myself at her ridiculousness, she’d erupted into giggles at her situation.

When the waiter saw what she was doing, he was clearly touched. Because among the crowd of affluent, entitledcustomers all demanding excellence, here was a laughing minx who apologized to him profusely while cleaning her own mess.

After that debacle we played a game where I told her the ridiculous memories I had of her from our childhood, and she corrected me on how wrong I was and how things actually had been. She snorted at one point, smacking my pointing finger as I accused her of being the one who stole my purple Cubs baseball hat when I was in the third grade, and I was charmed to a pathetic degree.

We were both laughing when my grandparents appeared next to the table.

“Colin!” My grandmother smiled down at me for half of a second before looking over at Liv.Dammit.I swallowed a curse and stood to hug her, not happy with the timing of this little reunion.

“Grandmother.” I immediately stood up. I kissed her cheek and said, “Nice to see you.”

My grandparents were nice people, but very traditional. Serious. If a dog had barked in the direction of my grandmother, my grandfather probably would’ve driven over it with his Mercedes and complained to the maître d’ to clean up the menace in the parking lot.

“This is my friend Olivia Marshall.” I looked down at her smiling face and said, “Olivia, these are my grandparents.”

“Nice to meet you both.” She stood, and I saw my grandmother’s eyes roam over Livvie’s dirty sweater and the hole in her tights. She shook both of their hands and said to my granddad around a smile, “I see where Colin gets his great hair.”

My grandfather laughed and teased her about how thewomen in our family were responsible for turning it silver, and though my grandmother smiled, I could tell Olivia’s disheveled state had captured her full attention.

“We’ll let you get back to your dinner, dear.” She patted my hand and said, “Come by the house this week.”

“I will.”

As soon as they walked away, Olivia said out of the side of her mouth, “Your grandma definitely noticed the paw prints on my sweater.”

I shrugged and picked up the lowball glass of whiskey that reminded me I still owed Nick a bottle of scotch. “Who cares?”

Her eyebrows crinkled together. “You’re very mellow tonight, Beck.”

“Maybe it’s all the sex I’ve been getting lately. Makes me super chill.”

She rolled her eyes while laughing and pushed back her chair. “I’ll be right back, weirdo.”

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