Page 163 of Can't Help Falling

I take a step down, one step, and wait.

My breathing is fine.

I take a few more, then a few more, until I’m at the basement floor, looking into my office.

I see my desk and the chair, but the large rug is gone, presumably because of smoke damage.

Soon I’ll be back to recording episodes right here. If only I felt confident about what I might say.

Nothing seems cut and dry anymore. I used to dole out advice with so much confidence, a romance master who had it all figured out.

Now, I feel like a student all over again.

I’m about to leave when something catches the corner of my eye.

There, on the top of my desk, is a small stack of physical letters.

They’re all addressed to The Hopeful Romantic.

Sometimes people send their questions via my post office box in Memphis, where my assistant Lily lives. She sends it all on to me from there.

Sometimes they send fan mail or thank you notes. And then I’ve gotten a few not-so-happy notes from people whose relationships didn’t pan out. I usually stash the letters away, but in the craziness of the fire, I must’ve forgotten.

We barely touched this room on the clean-up day because it wasn’t hit very hard.

I look over at the painting covering the breaker box.

I look again at the letters.

There’s a chance—a good chance—that Owen saw these when he was in here with Ed.

There’s a good chance that Owen knows I’m The Hopeful Romantic.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Owen

I wasn’t snooping.

It’s the day after the walk-through of Emmy’s house, and I’m at the gym with Jace. It’s a good thing because I need to blow off some steam.

We’re in the ring, sparring, and I’m wondering if I should move to one of the bags because I feel like I need to hit something and I really don’t want it to be Jace.

Yes, I had my suspicions, but the letters on Emmy’s desk prove it. She is the woman I’ve been trading emails with. She’s the one who told me to tell her how I feel. She just didn’t know she was talking to me. And she didn’t know we were talking about her.

I pop the focus mitts on Jace’s hands, left-right, left-right.

The last one I hit hard.

“Ow, geez, Owen.”

I snap to the present. “Ah. Sorry, Jace.”

“What’s going on with you?” Jace drops his hands and looks at me. “You’re off today. And you’re hitting these like Levi’s picture’s on them.”

“Funny,” I say. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“The lieutenant test?” he asks.

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