Marjorie felt a stab of despair. She didn’t want a philosophical tidbit. She wanted real, honest-to-goodness advice. “Can people change,” she repeated, taking another nervous bite of her breadstick and chewing. It was dry and stuck to the roof of her mouth and she struggled to swallow. “Can the bad guy turn into the good guy? Can people say they’re going to change something in their life, do it, and really mean it? Or do you think they eventually fall back on their old ways?” Gosh, she was going to choke on this breadstick if she didn’t drink something soon. She gulped her water and grimaced. “I’m just wondering.”

“Are we . . . asking about someone in particular?” Audrey asked delicately.

Marjorie shook her head, cheeks burning. Gosh, she was such a pitiful liar, she really was. She was sure she was being incredibly obvious.

But Audrey took pity on her. She smiled broadly and rubbed a hand on her big belly again. “I absolutely believe people can change. Look at Reese.” At Marjorie’s questioning look, she chuckled. “Did you know Reese was a total man-whore back in the day? When I met him, he was in a hot-tub with an heiress, seducing her because he wanted a business deal with her father.”

“That sounds . . . awful.”

“Oh, I hated him,” Audrey said, a dreamy expression on her face that contradicted her words. “We got along like cats and dogs. But the more time we spent together, the more we found that we liked arguing with each other. It was fun. And then we liked spending time with each other even when we weren’t arguing. And then we just liked each other, full stop.” She shrugged and reached for the breadbasket. “We figured out pretty fast that we were miserable without each other, and I think I really started to believe that he liked me when I saw him turning down these gorgeous, svelte women to spend time with plain old me. Now, we’re as happy as can be.” She picked up a piece of bread and took a triumphant bite. “So, yes, I do think people can change. Sometimes they just need incentive . . . or a kick in the pants.”

Brontë giggled into her water glass.

Marjorie wasn’t entirely sure she was convinced. She toyed with the remainder of her dry breadstick. “Yes, but how could you trust him? Weren’t you scared of being hurt?”

“Everyone’s scared of being hurt,” Audrey said, ever practical. “But sometimes you have to take a leap of faith and put your trust in that person. I love Reese and I trust him not to hurt me, just like he trusts me not to hurt him.”

“But how do you know?” Marjorie pressed.

“You don’t,” Audrey said. “But sometimes the fear of living without that person is worse than the fear of what happens if you do choose to go after them. I was more afraid of what would happen if I didn’t take a chance on Reese.” She patted her distended belly again. “It’s worked out pretty well for us.”

Marjorie had to agree. She’d seen the way Reese looked at rounded, no-nonsense Audrey. He looked at her as if she’d hung the moon and stars, and she’d never seen him so much as glance at another woman. If Reese was a reformed man-whore, then didn’t Rob stand a chance to be someone different? And didn’t he deserve that chance? “I see.”

“If you think about it,” Brontë said softly, “Every relationship is a leap of faith. No matter what the past is, you’re counting on making a solid future with that person. It’s always a risk, no matter how big or how small. You just have to ask yourself if it’s worth the potential reward.”

A leap of faith, Marjorie mused as the waiter arrived with three bowls of steaming pasta. The women dug in to their food and the conversation was momentarily forgotten. Marjorie mulled it over as they ate and chatted about other things. Maybe Rob had taken a leap of faith by selling his business and dumping a massive chunk of his fortune into a charity in the hopes that Marjorie would see and approve? That she’d still be interested?

That she’d see the real him underneath all the tarnish and still want him?

Her hands shook and she had to put down her fork, composing herself.

Truth was, she could gloss it however she wanted, but she loved Rob and yearned to be with him. It was just that leap of faith that was so utterly terrifying.

Could she leap? It’d hurt if she fell flat on her face, but would it be worse to not leap at all? She thought of Agnes’s small apartment, filled with pictures and memories. She’d leapt six times before, and still had enough love—and hope—in her heart for a seventh try.

She had a lot to think about. Now to just find the courage to do what she needed to do.

Chapter Twenty-five

Marjorie couldn’t stop thinking about Rob that night. She gazed at his picture from the magazine, then picked up her phone and did a new Google search for his name. Nothing new popped up, except for Man Channel ratings. She clicked off her browser and stared up at her popcorn ceiling, frustrated.

What would it hurt to just drop by and say hello? There was a late-night coffee shop in his area. She could always just, you know, pretend she had a deadline and was working late and just drop by there and see if he was in the area.

Just to see. Just in case he was out and about.

With that thought in mind, she got out of bed and stripped down to her skin, then picked out her sexiest panties and bra. Just in case. Then she slid on her sexiest jeans and a cute top, and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, and then spent ten minutes applying barely there makeup. Again, just in case. With that, she gave herself one last look in the mirror, crossed her fingers, put on her sparkly shoes that Rob had given her back on the island, and headed out into the streets of NYC, ignoring the hour.

Forty-five minutes later, she’d had a whipped hot cocoa from the coffee shop, had walked up and down the block twice, and no Rob. She wanted to walk up and down the block again, but she was starting to worry that someone would think her a hooker this late at night in platform heels.

It was either go up and take a chance, or go home and stew for another day. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, thinking. Could she do this? With a small sigh, she tossed her cup into the nearest garbage can and headed to Rob’s building.

The doorman stopped her. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Oh.” She blinked repeatedly, the urge to run away clawing its way back to the forefront. “Um, Rob Cannon gave me a card and told me to come by anytime—”

“Name?”

Her courage failed her. “You know what? I can just go. It’s really late and I’m not sure—”

“Name?” the man emphasized, narrowing his eyes at her.

Meekly, she offered, “Marjorie Ivarsson. Really, though—”

He nodded at her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ivarsson.” He opened the door for her and gestured that she should enter.

Oh. Huh. Okay. She hugged her purse against her side and continued into the building, the card with his address in her hand.

Rob apparently lived on the twenty-fifth floor, so she went to the elevator and pushed the button. To her horror, there was also an elevator attendant. Gosh, this was entirely too many people. Her courage failed her again.

“Going up, miss?”

“I-I-I—”

He leaned forward and glanced at the card in her hand. “Floor twenty five, miss?”

Eyes wide, she blinked and nodded.

He waited a minute, and then when she made no attempt to get into the elevator, gestured that she should get in. “Shall we?”

Right. She sucked in a deep breath. “I really should go home.”

The man waited, ever patient.

And despite her words, she found herself getting in the elevator. “Twenty-five, please,” she said in a squeaky voice, her hands shaking.