Page 25 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“I think my time’s up.”

I know he’s referring to the agreement. I’m simultaneously impressed and disappointed that he’s holding himself to it.

“We’re going for pizza after this,” she says. “If you want to come.”

This kid will be the death of me, I think.

To his credit, he replies before I have a need to launch a formal protest.

“Unfortunately I can’t do dinner.”

Again, part of me is pleased. But there’s that annoying little sliver that agrees that his inability to join us for pizza is unfortunate.

Siamese Quentins, I remind myself. Surgical separation.

As soon as this case is over, we’re parting ways, in all likelihood not on the best terms. Nothing good would come from having pizza with him. Especially getting Kamille involved? She deserves better. We deserve better. That’s why my more rational self drafted that agreement to begin with. For moments like this. Guardrails.

When Kamille gives me an imploring look, I shake my head.

“It’s about time for us to pack up, anyway,” I tell her. “Go get changed?”

She climbs out in search of her towel and bag without argument. Before she heads towards the changing rooms, she tosses Quentin one final piece of advice by way of goodbye.

“Home Slice has the best pizza. And we always go on Wednesdays. In case you were wondering.”

“Good to know,” he smiles. “Thanks.”

When she skips off, I wade toward the stairs.

“You were surprisingly decent at that,” I say.

“Was that a compliment?” he smirks. “Because I seem to recall that those are expressly prohibited.”

“Just an observation.”

He nods, accepting this. “Water safety is admittedly one of my more useful skills.”

“More useful than sliding into my real-life DMs with a well-chosen drink?”

“Debatable,” he says.

His grin sends that fluttery feeling spreading through me again. I guess some people call that butterflies. I call it a major inconvenience. He’s beginning the process of toweling off when I climb the stairs.

“You should stay,” I offer. “We’re heading out anyway.”

Now that I’m standing here, dripping wet, I realize he’s definitely checking me out. After a beat, he realizes it too. Suddenly he’s studying clouds on the horizon like they’re going to reveal the solution to world hunger.

“I didn’t mean to run you off,” he says.

“Please do not fool yourself into thinking you have that power,” I laugh. “I’ve gotta get her home soon.”

“She’s sharp,” he says. “Your kid?”

I have to walk right past him to retrieve my towel. There’s no way around it. I do my best to do it at a normal pace, though the concrete is scorching my feet.

“I’m not her mom, if that’s what you’re asking. But yeah, a few days a week she’s my kid.”

“That sounds… surprisingly complicated.”

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