But I thought you and the Brooklyn Bridge were perfect.

Nope, not even close. How about we pick a shorter bridge so we can get from one end to the other faster?

Shorter?

I do a Google search and bring up an image of a famous bridge in Venice, Italy. I send it to her.

The Rialto Bridge in Venice . . . it’s stone and has survived for centuries. Plus its shops are enclosed so we can take cover, even in a storm.

That’s a really good one, she replies.

I picture her sitting in her house, biting her lip as she taps her screen and it’s a sharp reminder of how much I miss her.

I take a big breath as my fingers glide over the screen’s keyboard.

I liked being your bridge, you know. I miss you, Elle.

I miss you too.

A minute later a picture pops up that she labels, The Bridge of Sighs. I look it up and see it’s actually the Hertford Bridge that links two buildings at Oxford University but is nicknamed after another famous bridge in Italy.

Good thing you picked the Oxford one. The Bridge of Sighs in Venice had a prison on one end, and interrogation room on the other.

Oh no! I picked this one because it’s really short, enclosed—so we’re protected—and it has great style.

That’s my Elle—she’s more focused on the style than ending up in prison.

It’s very inviting.

Exactly . . . I wanted a short, inviting bridge for a reason.

Yes?

I was hoping we could talk in person tomorrow.

Okay. We could do that.

Could you come over after work?

I’ll be there at seven.

I’ll be ready.

I’m not sure what ready means, but I sure as hell am going to find out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE BRIDGE

When I pull up in front of her house early the next evening, I pause for a moment and run my fingers through my hair a few times. Even though it hasn’t been long since I was here, it’s like her house is a mirage and I’m not sure I should believe it’s actually there and she’s inside waiting to talk to me.

I slap the dashboard with my hand. “Get a grip, dude,” I say out loud to myself right as some lady walks by with her dog. She looks back at me, alarmed. I sigh, roll up my window, and get out of the car to head in before I freak anyone else out.

Of course Elle doesn’t answer the door. Well at least she’s consistent. I shake my head and walk to the back.

I’m not even out of the side yard when I hear the hiss of sprinklers and cursing. What the hell? I round the corner.

Not only are the sprinklers going, but the sprinkler that we first became friends over is a geyser and Elle is on her knees trying to force the sprinkler head into it. Why the hell are they even running at this hour?

To top it off she’s wearing a dress that I’ve never seen and her hair is swept off her face. Why doesn’t she just shut the system off? She’s getting soaked for God’s sake.

Her face is red and she’s sporting the biggest frown. I can’t help but feel sorry for her as she curses like a sailor and pulls the head back up and throws it in the bushes. It’s right after it disappears into the foliage that she looks up and sees me standing there.

“On no! You’re here!”

Wasn’t she expecting me at seven?

I tip my head and glance over at the bush that swallowed the sprinkler head.

“What are you doing anyway? Is this why you wanted me to come over?”

I’m teasing but damn, this is weird. This isn’t the greeting I was expecting at all.

She shakes her head with a grimace, then feebly stands up and tries to pull her wet skirt away from where it’s clinging to her legs.

Stepping closer, I observe that she’s wearing nice shoes and she has make-up on. Or she was, but now her face is really wet and her eye makeup stuff appears to be sliding off.

As I gaze at her with wide eyes, she seems to realize what she must look like. She runs a finger under her eye and cries out softly when she sees it’s covered with black goop. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a wet tissue, and wipes off the worst of it.

“I had plans,” she wails.

“I’m sorry they didn’t work out.”

Her focus moves from one end of the yard to the other, then back at the geyser and she lets out a sorrowful sigh.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She nods and so I retrace my steps to the side yard, open the panel, and shut the system down. There’s the slow fizzle of the sprinklers shutting off and then silence.

After rejoining her, I nod toward the bush. “I’ll fix it later. I’m not really dressed for doing hard labor.” I grin at her and she seems to relax a tiny bit.

“You look really nice,” she says as she studies me.

“Thanks.”

The corners of her mouth turn up a little. “You’re wearing tighter jeans.”

I shrug. “I wanted to put my best foot forward, so to speak.”

She nods, fighting back a smile. “Thank you for that.”

I look over to the chaise lounges and gesture in their direction. “You want to sit down and talk?”

“Should I change first? I must look awful.”

“It’s up to you, but I think you look great all wet.”

I love that I finally see her full smile. She walks toward the sitting area and points for me to sit across from her, but I settle down next to her instead.

As we sit silently she twists her hands together. Damn, she’s going at it so intently that it looks like she’s going to pull her fingers off. She’s making me anxious. Reaching over, I wrap my fingers over hers.

“Don’t be nervous. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

She leans back and takes a deep breath before curling forward again. “Stella yelled at me. And she got really loud.”

Okay. That’s out of left field but I’ll go with it.

“I thought she was on her honeymoon?”

“They were in the car on the way to the airport.”

“I bet her new husband liked that.”

She laughs softly. “He’s used to stuff like that with Stella.”

“Well he’s a better man than me then. So what did she yell at you about?”

“That I should get over myself.”

I don’t respond. I mean, what the hell can I say about that? That I agree with Stella?

“She also yelled that if I let you get away she’ll never speak to me again.”

I raise my brows as I turn toward her. “Never?”

“She tends to exaggerate. But I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Well I guess I’m glad to have her on my side.”

“And then there’s your brother . . .”

I decide I’m going to cover for Patrick and play this like I don’t know they talked. “What about him?”

“He gave me a book.”

“Really? What kind of book?”

“Umm, inspirational, I guess? It’s actually pretty good. It’s helping me get over myself.”

I stretch my legs out. “So are you over yourself yet?”

“Not completely, but I want to be.”

Okay. That’s something.

“Well, that’s half the battle. And what does getting over yourself entail?”

“Deciding that I’m not going to let the disappointments and failures in my past define my future.”

I nod slowly. Sounds like that book Patrick got her was worth every penny. But still something bothers me. I don’t trust anything that feels like a magic fix.

“And just reading a book is going to make you figure out what you want?”

She shakes her head with an earnest look. “No. Anyone with half a wit knows this stuff already. The book just reminds us how to walk toward it—otherwise the possibility seems overwhelming and so far away. So I can take one step at a time. Right? I don’t have to figure it all out at the same time.”

“Sure.” I nudge her shoulder. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

She smiles, and I notice that her eyes have their twinkle back.