Page 22 of Ripple Effect
“Well, that all depends on Kyle…” But the man in question bolts past me out the front door. Libby shakes her head. “I didn’t even get to knee him in the nuts like I wanted to,” she says with a touch of mock despair.
“I could always go bring him back and hold him,” I offer, but then we both hear the sound of a car squealing out of the parking lot.
“Sorry. I might have let you.” Libby fiddles with her phone a moment before she picks up her work line. “Can you give me a moment?”
She’s practically been assaulted in her office. I move closer to offer her what comfort I can. “Umm, sure?”
“Thanks.” Quickly, she dials. “Josh? Hey, it’s me. I’m sending you a file.” She pauses for a moment. “You’ll never believe who came to see me in the office.” Another moment of silence. “Got it in one, brother. Oh, the usual—he wants me back, Krysta’s a bitch, he’s going to leave her.” There’s another moment of silence before a snort. “You might want to put in the headphones when you listen to it. I wasn’t exactly ladylike in my responses. I don’t want my niece mimicking this.” She grins. “Now, Josh, I don’t know what you mean, darlin’. I am not a bad influence on Syd. Yeah, hopefully, this will finally convince Krysta to divorce his ass.” A long pause before a cryptic, “We can’t help who we love, big brother. Okay, I’ve got a date I’m now officially late for.” She rolls her eyes but smiles at me. “Yes, a date. I not only know how to spell it, I know how to vet them all on my own.” She waits for her brother to comment before she laughs. And that laughter rips through me. “Love you, Joshua. Good night.” Hanging up the phone, Libby grins. “Sorry, but if I need Krysta to wake up, I might need a witness.”
“And here I thought you wanted me to beat the crap out of him.” I let a note of despair enter my voice. And sadly, it’s not faked. I want to pound out some frustration on that fucker.
Libby grabs her purse and walks straight to me on those awe-inspiring boots. “I learned a few things over the past few years, Cal,” she explains.
“What’s that?” Is that my voice that sounds so damn rough? I swallow hard when a catlike smile spreads across her face.
“The first is I’m worth a hell of a lot more than that,” she sneers as she looks back at the chair, as if Kyle were still in it. “And the second is that I have to be able to take care of myself—most especially my heart.”
“You’re worth everything,” I rasp. My arms slip around her waist of their own volition.
She steps back. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
Damn right we will. I extend my elbow to her. I owe her this date before I take her lips in a kiss neither of us will ever forget. “Shall we?”
“Indeed.” Libby slips her fingers into the crook of my arm. “So, where are we going?”
“Do you like French food?”
“I do. I also like wine,” she replies with good humor.
“Then I think you’ll love the place I chose.” Guiding her over to my truck, I turn her toward me after I open the door so I can help boost her in. I don’t miss the puff of air that escapes. Sliding my hands over her slender legs, I ask, “All set?”
“Sure,” she murmurs. Twisting in her seat, she reaches for her belt as I close the door.
“Well, I’m glad one of us is,” I say aloud as I round the back to climb in.
Soon, we’re ensconced in the car for a ride down Route 17 toward Mount Pleasant and a French restaurant Sam recommended as one of Libby’s favorites.
* * *
“You haveto try a bite of this, Cal,” Libby cajoles. She’s holding up a bite of the cassoulet toward my lips. “It’s my absolute favorite. The flavors are just layered on top of one another.”
“It’s going to be hard to top this duck,” I argue. But the minute the cassoulet meets my lips, I understand why it’s Libby’s favorite. “Oh, God. I’ll trade you.”
Libby bursts out in laughter. “Not a chance.” She dives in with renewed enthusiasm, but I’m frozen in place.
Her laughter is better than the wine we’ve shared, the tartare, and even the bite of heaven she just placed in my mouth. It’s sunshine and happiness returning to my soul that’s been missing for far too long.
And it’s all my fault.
“I was an idiot,” I blurt out.
Libby stills with her fork halfway to her mouth. Laying it down, she gives me her undivided attention. “I’m listening.”
“I grew up an orphan, I told you that.” It came up during the last few weeks when Libby asked about where my family was from.
Libby nods, so I continue. “I had nothing, Libby. Literally nothing of my own. I had to fight for everything I had including my education. I earned scholarships to go to college, and I worked the summers to pay for books.”
“It made you appreciate what you have more,” she says softly.
