A week later I was once again in my living room, but this time with Wren. She insisted on stopping by every other day even though I told her I was fine. This time she'd gone a step further and brought pizza with her. And not just any pizza, but a pie from our favorite Little Italy hang out. She said it was because she didn't eat lunch and for once I couldn't argue because she often skipped meals.

She claimed that sometimes she got so caught up in what she was doing, she’d forget to eat. I always thought it had more to do with the years she spent training in ballet and less to do with getting lost in her work. Either way, there was little to no chance of me ever forgetting a meal.

“What are you working on?” she asked, after finishing her third slice. “More consulting jobs?”

I had yet to take a permanent position anywhere, even though I’d been offered several. I would normally be flattered, but I had a feeling those were more as a result of Tenor making calls than anything else. I had to admit I thought it was sweet of him, but I wasn’t looking for anything permanent. However, a few had been receptive when I’d suggested working as an ad hoc consultant.

“No, not tonight.” I put down the financials and spreadsheets I’d been reviewing and reached for a slice of pepperoni, olives, and mushrooms. “I’ve been going through the records Mom had on the business.”

“Have you found anything?”

“It’s more like what I haven’t found.” I’d retraced Mom’s footprints through several years of bank statements, bills, and delinquency notifications. “The loan allowed her to pay back all of her outstanding debt.”

I knew this because I’d painstakingly gone through every transaction I could find and matched up the amount owed to the amount paid. I’d discovered early in the process to remove myself emotionally because otherwise, there was no way I’d get through it all.

“And something’s not adding up?” Wren’s eyes lit up and she was practically drooling to get her hands on the files. There was little she loved more than a puzzle. That was one of the reasons she’d done so well as an investigative journalist—she refused to stop until she had an answer.

“I can’t match up one check with an invoice or bill.”

“Just one?” She peered over my shoulder. “I’d say that’s pretty damn impressive.”

“One fifty-thousand-dollar check.”

She nearly choked on her pizza. “Fifty?”

“Yes.” I took a bite of my slice and closed my eyes. Nothing was better than fresh from the brick oven pizza. “I think I should put in a brick oven in my kitchen. Would that be odd?”

“Very. Can you tell who the check is to or for what?” she asked all businesslike.

“That’s another issue. I can’t find a copy of the cashed check anywhere. The bank doesn’t even have it.” I watched as she went over everything I said. It was fascinating to observe her work.

“Strange.”

“Right?” I sighed. “I don’t know what to do to move forward.”

I’d thought about ignoring the fifty thousand, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. One way or the other, I would find out who the check was made to and why.

“If you need my help, let me know.”

“I will. I promise.”

There was one question I knew she wanted to ask and, to be honest, I was surprised she’d held out as long as she had without asking. I decided to throw her a bone. “I haven’t heard from him in a week. What do you make of that?”

“Easy. He’s giving you space and you know what happened the last time he did that?” She wiggled her eyebrows and it looked so funny, I had to laugh.

“Yes, well, that was then and this is now. And there is no way I’m stepping one foot inside his office.” Though everyday the thought tempted me.

“You don’t have to stop by his office. Take baby steps. Send him a text first.”

Listening to her made it sound so easy. Send him a text. Yeah, like it was that simple. She didn’t know how many times during the last week I’d pulled up his contact information and thought about doing that very thing.

Or the numerous times I’d catch myself wondering what he was doing at that very moment. I told myself it was only normal, but I wasn’t sure I completely believed that. No, I feared the truth was I’d fallen hard and fast for Tenor Butler and there would be no easy way to get over him. Even worse, I saw no way to work out being with him. Not with how I felt unequal beside him. He didn’t see it that way, but I did which made it my issue to get over.

I just didn’t know how.

I also wondered if he’d mended the fence with Piers. Then I’d secretly hoped he hadn’t. Of course, that only made me feel worse, because what sort of person was I that I didn’t want Tenor and his best friend to work things out?

But I confessed none of this to Wren. I didn’t want her to know that I feared I was helplessly in love with my ex-boss, and that I was a horrible person as well. Though I had a feeling she knew about helplessly in love bit.

She grew very quiet as we finished dinner. It wasn’t like her, but I figured she was just thinking about an article or something. “I'm going to tell you something,” she said once the pizza was gone. Her tone was a combination of heartache and regret and so unlike her my mouth nearly gaped in shock when I turned and saw a lone tear slide down her cheek. 

“Wren?”

“I don't talk about it but I've been where you are.” Her smile was sad. “Most days I'm still there, if I'm honest.” 

“Italy?”

She nodded and wiped her nose. “God, it's been five years. You'd think I'd be over him.”

Him. The man whose existence I’d suspected, but had never had proof of. The man who may or may not have been involved in whatever accident killed her dancing dream, but who for damn sure was responsible for the sadness my friend carried.

“We met my first day in the country and hit it off immediately.” As she spoke, it was almost as if I saw her mind travel back to that country and time. “He was young and handsome and charming. Everything was so perfect, I kept telling myself it couldn’t be real.”

But it had been real. I could tell simply by looking at her how real it had been.

“We had almost a week together before I found out the truth about him,” she said.

“What was the truth?” I asked after she didn’t say anything.

“That he was only using me to get into the States. That he was a known playboy who never went out with the same woman twice.” She looked at me and blinked a few tears out of the way. “I’d heard that last part before. I wasn’t totally naive. But he managed to convince me that I was different. That he felt differently about me. Then one afternoon, almost two weeks after our arrival, I saw proof that he’d been lying to me. Forty-eight hours and too many drinks to count later, I woke up in an Italian hospital with two broken legs and no memory of how they got that way.”

“Jesus, Wren.” I felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath my feet. I’d never heard exactly what happened while she was in Italy, and even though I’d known it wouldn’t be pretty, I had no idea just how horrible it had been.

“He came by the hospital a few times while I was there, but I told the nurses I didn’t want to see him and they kept him away from me.”

I couldn’t imagine what had been like for her going through everything alone, in a strange country where she knew very little of the language and even fewer people.

“Oh, Wren,” I said taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I wish I’d been there for you. It must have been horrible.”

She gave my hand a slight squeeze back. “I wish you had been there, too. And I wish I’d told you sooner, but I knew it’d hurt. And it does, but it feels good to finally get it out there.”

I had so many questions to ask her, but I held back, at least for now, because I knew she’d had a reason for bringing up today what happened in Italy all those years ago.

“I wanted you to know there’s not a day that goes by I don’t wish I had let him come in to see me. Just once. That I’d allowed myself a bit of closure. But I didn’t and now it’s too late.” Her eyes begged me. “Don’t do like me. This thing you have with Tenor, it’s real and different. I can see it, even if you won’t admit it.”

I took a shaky breath. “I have no problem admitting it,” I told her. “It just doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“I think you’re wrong, but I’m not going to argue with you. Bottom line is, there’s unfinished business between the two of you. You both need to sit down and sort it out or else you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

I sat there for several long seconds and wondered when my friend had become so smart. My head knew she was correct, even if my heart wanted to deny it for a bit longer. “I can’t promise you I’ll see him again,” I told her. “And I won’t lie and tell you otherwise. However, I do promise that I’ll think long and hard over what you’ve told me. And that I’ll give serious thought to contacting Tenor.”

“Thank you,” she said. Suddenly she got a huge grin on her face and I couldn’t help it. I grinned right back at her.

“What?”

“You should always take my advice, Ms. Smarty Pants Matchmaker. I’m pretty good at this relationship stuff. Except, you know, when it comes to my own. That I suck at. But I’m totally right about you and Tenor.”

I flipped her the bird because she was still grinning. That only caused her to break out into laughter, so I threw a pillow from the couch at her and we both dissolved into giggles.

Two days later, I was still searching online records looking for the fifty thousand I couldn’t put my fingers on. I tapped my pen on top of the kitchen table. I was baffled and more than a little perturbed I wasn’t able to find it because I knew it had to be somewhere. Seriously, it was right in front of me and somehow, I kept overlooking it.

The front door buzzer rang and I gladly closed the spreadsheets, thrilled to have something else to focus on. The number of people stopping by had decreased dramatically. If I had to guess, I’d guess it was an old friend of mama’s stopping by to make sure I was getting along okay. A visit from one of her friends would nice.

As I walked across the floor, my phone rang. I assumed it was another matchmaking agency wanting me to do some consulting work for them and decided to let it go to voicemail. I made a mental note to call and thank Tenor for all the work he was sending my way.

“Hello,” I said, using the intercom to connect with whoever buzzed my apartment.

“Mia Matthews,” someone said in a voice I didn’t recognize. I realized that not only was this person not one of mother’s friends, but that he was also male.

“Yes," I answered hesitantly. I couldn’t very well tell them that I was not, after all. They had come to my apartment. However, it felt a bit odd confirming such over an intercom.

“I’m from David and Daniels,” he said, naming one of the most high-powered law offices in the city.

My first thought was, holy shit, what had Piers done now? I was getting ready to tell him to go jump when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s about Ophelia Tuckerman.”

Opa? I couldn’t even begin to imagine why someone would come by my apartment for her, but it wasn’t Piers and didn’t sound like anything he had orchestrated, so I pushed the button to let the gentleman up.

My confusion hadn’t abated even after I let him in.

“Jacob Evans,” he said, reaching out for my hand. He had a briefcase in his other one. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, his suit was well made, and his shoes didn’t look as if they typically spent their day making house calls around the city.

“Have a seat, Mr. Evans.” I pointed to the couch. “May I get you something to drink?”

He took a seat and placed the briefcase on the floor. “No, thank you. This shouldn’t take very long.”

I sat down. “You said this was about Opa?” I used her nickname intentionally because I remembered how much she disliked her full name.

He must have known that as well because he smiled, though I got the impression he was smiling at something else and not necessarily at me. “Yes,” he said. “Typically, I’d have called you to my office for reading a will, but in this case, it seemed a bit overboard since it only concerns you.”

I almost missed the “only concerns you” part because my brain kind of fizzled after he said, “reading a will.”

“I…what?” I sputtered out.

He opened the briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. “Ms. Tuckerman was the lone heir of David Tuckerman and she was her parents’ only child. She never married because she said men only wanted her for her money, and she never had any children. She lived a modest life, but she was extremely generous when it came to charitable giving. Her original intentions had been to give away most of her wealth before she died, but a few years ago, she changed her mind. She came to me and said she was finished with the charities. Whatever was left, she wanted it put aside for you.”

“Me? Why?” It was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard and I half expected him to bust out laughing and shout, “Fooled ya!”

Except he didn’t. “Ms. Tuckerman said you and your mother were the two dearest friends she’d had. She said your mother told her that her one regret was not being able to give you everything you deserved. This is Ms. Tuckerman’s way of fixing that.”

He pulled more paper out of the briefcase at his side. “I’m afraid that up until she changed her wishes, we’d done a great job giving money away for her.” He grimaced. “As of this morning, the estate is worth around four hundred seventy-five thousand dollars.”

My jaw dropped, and I didn’t seem to be able to close it, though I somehow managed to chant, “Oh, my God,” several times.

“And,” he said. “There’s one more thing.”

My stomach plunged. Of course there was a one more thing. Did I actually expect this guy to walk into my apartment and hand over almost half a million dollars? God, I was such an idiot. “What would that be, Mr. Evans?”

He pulled out a leather deposit bag. “Your mother gave Ms. Tuckerman fifty thousand dollars in cash. Told her that if something happened, she wanted to be sure Opa was taken care of. Opa couldn’t convince her otherwise, so she eventually took it. We had been planning to hand it over to you when they were killed.”

The missing fifty thousand. It had been Mama?

I was still in shock when he mentioned there were papers I had to sign. I could only nod.

For his part, Mr. Evans worked just as quick and efficiently as one would have expected a lawyer with David and Daniels to work. In no time, he guided me though a pile of papers, making certain I understood what each one said and pointing to every place I need to sign. My hand shook for the majority of the signing, but Mr. Evans was very kind and didn’t bring it up at all.

He finally left with the signed papers and a promise to run them by the bank immediately. After that, he’d return to his office to finish the paperwork. He said he would request the money be transferred as soon as possible. But I had to admit, when I closed the door behind him, I wasn’t sure I believed what had just happened.