Page 128 of The Wild Card

“We were never really—” I stop. I still haven’t told Gavin the truth about the arrangement. It’s too complicated, too embarrassing, too everything. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated. He let you go. That makes him an idiot.” Gavin shrugs. “I never trusted him anyway. Too stoic. Too controlled. You never knew what he was thinking.”

“Some people would call that mysterious.”

“Some people would call it a red flag.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You deserve someone who’s actually present, Em. Someone who knows how to communicate like a normal human being. Not some robot FBI agent who treats emotions like a tactical liability.”

I want to argue. I want to tell him about the Crew I got to know—the one who held me through cramps and who had nightmares, who let me teach him to knead bread and fold egg whites. The one who laughed so rarely that when he did, it felt like a gift.

But what’s the point? That Crew is gone. Or maybe he was never really there to begin with.

“You’re right,” I say instead. “He wasn’t the one.”

Gavin nods, satisfied. “You’ll find someone better. You always land on your feet.”

“Yeah.” I force a smile. “I always do.”

* * *

The date is a disaster.

His name is Brad. He works in marketing. Sadie didn’t set this one up—I found him on an app, which should have been my first warning sign.

Within twenty minutes, I know three things about Brad:

One, he thinks he’s much funnier than he actually is.

Two, he has opinions about everything—my drink order, my career choice, the way I hold my fork.

Three, he has not asked me a single question about myself.

“So then I told my boss,” Brad is saying, gesturing expansively with his wine glass, “I said, ‘Look, Steve, if you can’t see the value I bring to this team, that’s a you problem, not a me problem.’” He laughs at his own story. “Steve’s face was priceless.”

“Wow,” I say flatly. “Steve sounds like he had it coming.”

“Right? That’s what I said.” Brad doesn’t notice my tone. “Anyway, enough about work. Tell me something interesting about yourself.”

Finally. A question.

“I’m a cookbook author. I’m working on my third—”

“Oh, cool, cool. You know, I actually dated a chef once. Totally crazy. Like, unhinged. She threw a pan at my head when I told her the risotto was too salty.” He shakes his head. “Women and food, am I right?”

I stare at him.

“Right,” I say. “Women and food. Totally crazy. All of us.”

“Not you, obviously.” He winks. “You seem normal.”

“I’m going to get the check.”

“What? We haven’t even ordered dessert.”

“I have an early morning.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“I have a very ambitious Saturday planned.”