Page 71 of The Love Operation

The prep feels like a ritual now, even though it’s only the third time we’ve done it. The buzz of electricity is exhilarating. It takes everything I have not to leap off the table.

We finish the post-tests, and Delenn clears me to go.

I head home immediately, heart pounding with anticipation.

It’s time to dive in.

I sit on my bed and inhale deeply.

Tad Cooper rustles in his cage on my nightstand, his tiny movements familiar and welcome.

I shake out my arms like I’m an Olympian at the starting line, then pull my Failed Relationships notebook onto my lap.

I found it at the hospital gift shop—a plain lavender journal with rose-gold spiral binding and a tiny plant on the front beside the words Big things often have small beginnings. It felt right. Every project needs a notebook, after all.

I flip the cover back and scan the list of names I wrote. Six men. Six failures.

There are more, of course, but these are the ones that mattered—the ones where I was invested, where I saw a future. If answers exist, they’re buried here.

In doing this, I’m looking for patterns, things I might’ve missed or ignored. Red flags. Behaviors I can correct.

I trace my finger down the list, stopping at Benedict Calder.

The indentation of his name in the paper is deeper than the others, like I pressed harder when I wrote it. Maybe I did. Maybe because he meant more.

The most.

He was the first who made forever feel possible. He was also the first to break my heart. He tore my world apart, then scattered the remains in the wind of his departure.

I think about what Delenn said about people with HSAM, how memories don’t just return, they resurface, emotions intact, as sharp as the day they were made. And I realize—I’m not ready for Benedict.

Not yet.

This process is going to hurt. I know that. But it’s worth it. Isaac is worth it.

My gaze drops to the next name: Jonathan Spencer.

A small smile tugs at my lips, then vanishes as memory bleeds in: The hospital charity benefit, the night everything fell apart.

That night, I was planning for him to meet my family, who would all be there. I’d imagined it perfectly, but reality had unraveled, thread by thread.

Craig, Delenn’s husband, had introduced us, convinced we were the same: driven, ambitious, craving an equal. At first, it seemed like he was right.

Jonathan worked in finance. He was confident, intelligent, funny. He understood my sarcasm. We fed off each other. We sparked. And that spark turned into a steady flame.

Until he blew it out, leaving me standing alone in his bedroom.

He’s the perfect place to start.

I lie back on my comforter, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. I don’t need to close my eyes, but I do, blocking the world out, focusing completely. I picture that night in Jonathan’s condo.

And then . . .

I’m there.

Jonathan sits on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped as he rubs his temples. I stand in the door to his closet, holding up two different ties, waiting for him to just pick one already.

“You know how important this benefit is,” I say, arms and ties flopping to my sides. “It’s not just a dinner. It’s about the hospital, about raising money for our friend’s research, and you’re meeting my family.”