Page 32 of Five
“Whatever. What did he look like? Details, please. I need fodder for my imagination station if you know what I mean.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not describing the man so you can put him in your spank bank. Just think… Tom Hardy-ish.” Involuntarily, my mind is pulled back to the man who came out today to interview little Henry. He was deliciouslynormal-looking, something that weirdly pushed all my buttons. His height was average—nothing too short or so tall that I’d get a crick in my neck looking up at him. Maybe five-ten to six feet-ish, with a strong build, warm brown eyes, and dirty blond hair.
But it was his Tom Hardy mouth that got me—full lips that appeared ridiculously soft and kissable—something I’d never looked at in a man and considered before.
I was looking now.
“Really?” Caroline’s tone is impressed.
“Oh, yeah. And I might have noticed that he has a really squeezable ass-pirin bottle, too.” I rub my forehead with the palm of my hand, the irony of what I’m saying suddenly pressing in on me. “But…”
Caroline interrupts. “But what? And can you please just cuss? You’re driving me batshit with all the hokey replacements.”
“But, how can I be attracted to him and talking to Oliver at the same time? It just doesn’t feel right.” I don’t bother to reply to the bit about cursing. Caro knows my reasons.
“No. There are no “buts” in polyamory. Well, there are butts, just definitely not that kind. You can be attracted to multiple men, Neve. That’s kind of the point… not having to choose between the steak or the lobster or the crablegs.”
I snort a laugh. “You are terrible. I know that, Caro. I was just saying—”
Caroline cuts me off again. “Need I remind you of our patron saint…”
“No. Please don’t.”
She ignores me. “The woman to whom we aspire to be…”
“It’s been a long day, Caro.” My phone beeps insistently, alerting me each time a new message comes through.
“The myth! The legend!TheViolet Gordon-Woodhouse!” Caroline makes the noise of a cheering crowd, then sighs a contented sound. “Four husbands, Neve. FOUR. She did that in the eighteen or nineteen-hundreds…I can’t remember. We are modern women! We could have MORE. She is my hero.”
The phone chimes again, insistent. Probably more parents, and I do not have the bandwidth to deal with them. I set down the earrings I was looking at and start toward the front of the store. I need to cancel my date.
“Okay, killer,” I tell Caroline. “I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“You better. And you better go out with Oliver.”
Shaking my head, I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket. I hurry through the open door of the shop without buying anything, my face downturned as I search for my keys in my purse.
I almost don’t notice the busted window in the back of my little roadster. It’s the tempered glass on the ground, crunching under my feet, that gains my attention first, and then my eyes find half of the shattered pane still in the door, spider-webbed and clinging to the frame.
“Oh, my God.”
I shoot a panicked glance around, but don’t see anyone watching or showing me any particular interest. Who did this? Why? I have nothing of value—
Wait.
Without touching anything, I lean over and peer into the backseat. My laptop case is missing.
“Damn it. Damn, damn, damn!” It feels good to curse. I even stomp my foot for good measure. What the actual hell is going on? Either I have unbelievably bad luck, or someone is actively trying to make my life hell. “Grrrr!” I growl and tug my hair with both hands in sheer frustration.
I need to call the police and report the broken window, but as I pull out my phone to do so, it buzzes with a new notification—another parent. My shoulders sag. I can’t even be angry about it. I truly do understand.
I just can’t do it. I can’t take a single other thing. And I have nothing left for dealing with the police again today. It would be the third time in two days.
I can’t.
Although… maybe I could just call Oscar. He gave me his card…
Refusing to overthink the matter, I dig his card from my purse and dial the number listed. It goes to voicemail.
