The Love Wars Read Online Free PDF Page B

meal, Dangly Earrings is turned away from Eggplant, and although Eggplant’s hand rests on the back of her chair, his fingers curl up defensively, warding against contact with her shoulder. I feel a twinge in the pit of my stomach for them, as though I know exactly where they’re headed. Even though I’m new to this work, there’s something about dissecting broken marriages every day that alters your perspective.
    As their whole group noisily files out of the place, Duck looks at me and back at them. “You checking out her boots? Gorgeous, right?”
    I sigh. “I was actually wondering if being a divorce lawyer has already curdled my romanticism.”
    “What romanticism?” Duck snorts. “When was the last time you even had a crush on anyone?”
    Duck’s question is hanging in the air, but I’m focused on a large group that’s filing into the restaurant’s entrance, milling around the long entry hall as they wait for their table. I scan the group the way I usually do, only this time, he’s there. He’s actually freaking there. Caleb Frank. The timing is straight out of a romantic comedy, although Caleb would be a disaster as a leading man. He’d probably be seducing the key grip when he was supposed to be rushing to the airport to stop the female lead from moving to Chicago.
    It’s not a complete coincidence to spot Caleb here, though. I did innocently recommend this restaurant to Duck and Holt after Caleb tweeted last year that it was one of his “faves.” And it is my fourth visit to the place since reading the tweet.
    Caleb and I were over in college. And that was that. Well, there was a handful of meaningless times in the years followinggraduation, yes, but those were minor little aftershocks. One recent night, though, alone at my desk at Bacon Payne, I had idly typed his name into a search engine. Jackpot! Pages and pages popped up, detailing all the fantastic things that Caleb Frank had been up to in the past four years while I had been stuck in document-review hell. It was pure masochism, a one hundred percent guarantee of feeling crappy, so of course, I kept at it, becoming increasingly obsessed. Which is why I haven’t shared this with Duck. She will point out to me twenty different reasons why my interest in Caleb is unfounded. And she will be right.
    Now that I see him, I realize this and I want to disappear. My expression must betray my distress, because Holt freezes midbite and Duck’s head starts swiveling around like a drunken top. “What?” she says.
    “Don’t look over there.” I speak without moving my mouth, as though we’re hiking and I’ve just spotted a bear on the trail. “It’s him.”
    “Him?” Duck, of course, does not realize that in my world the generic pronoun refers to Caleb Frank; she probably thinks I’m having Joan of Arc–style visions.
    “Caleb Frank.”
    Duck and I exchange nervous looks. Should we leave? Hide under the table? Strike a fabulously casual pose? Our eyes are still locked when Caleb saunters over to the table. “Good to see you two are still inseparable.”
    Unfortunately, Caleb looks even better in the flesh than he does on the Web. Since I’ve known him, some secret ingredient has mixed with the golden brown waves, the half smirk, the chicken pox scar on his temple, elevating him from appealing to irresistible.
    “Hi, Caleb.” I somehow manage to sound casual.
    “Mol-lee Grant.” He dips his head in greeting. “How long has it been?”
    I pause as if the question has stumped me. “Years, I guess.”
Four years and one month. The Lodge, homecoming weekend, two years after we graduated. Well, really I just saw your back because you were in that alcove, right outside of the men’s room, pressed up against that freshman with long brown hair. Ah, memories.
    “Yeah,” he says. “I think I heard something about you guys being in New York.”
    We nod in agreement, having established that we are all, certainly, in New York.
    He reaches over