Page 23 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

“Oh.” Sloane blinked at me. “This morning, I thought you said you have a teenage daughter.”

“I do,” I said and closed my mouth. Anyone who knew me would have found this hard to believe—Maisey Phillips closed her mouth?—but there were some things I didn’t care to talk about. My relationship with Bella was one of them.

“I don’t see why you’re going to all this cursed trouble,” Arthur said as he struggled to his feet. I could see how much Sloane wanted to get up and help him—I felt the same way—but we stayed in place.

The fact that we were sitting inside Arthur McLachlan’s house was strange enough. That we’d dined with him was even stranger. That he’d offered to make us coffee and invited us to stick around for a bit?

There was no way we were upsettingthatapple cart. The poor man was obviously in a much worse state than he wanted to let on.

“I don’t need a couple of babysitters, and I don’t need some nosy neighborhood watch photographing every deliveryman who shows up on the street. I’mfine.”

Sloane and I shared a look that was full of meaning. We waited only until Arthur disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door before pouncing on each other.

“There’s no way we can leave him alone tonight,” Sloane hissed. “Did you notice his face when we came in? I’ve never seen anyone that relieved before.”

“I wish I could stay, but I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” I apologized with a wince. “I could always call in sick, but—”

Sloane shook her head, sending her crop of curls bouncing. The longer I sat here with her, the more jealous I was of her hair—how it grew and expanded with her every movement. My own hair was thin and lanky, and only getting worse with age. All I could do was pile it on my head and hope no one noticed how little of it there was left.

“Please don’t do that,” she said. “One of us losing our job over this thing is bad enough.”

“Wait. You lost your job?” Suddenly, those red-rimmed eyes and last night’s clothes looked a lot less like a love affair gone wrong. “Because you stayed with Arthur this morning?”

She nodded and brushed at her right eye in a way that indicated long practice. To an untrained observer, she might have been tucking a wayward curl behind her ear, but I knew better. That was someone who’d taught herself a long time ago how to cry so no one would see.

“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What’ll that place do without you?”

She was so startled by this that she forgot to brush away the tear from her other eye. “How do you know where I work?”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t lucky to have you. I bet you’re the best art therapy instructor—”

“Um, I’m not an art therapy instructor.”

“Elementary school teacher?”

“Getting warmer.”

I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I’ve got it! Librarian.”

She laughed. The sound went a long way to lift my spirits. And hers, probably. “That’s not half bad, actually,” she said. “Can you do that for everyone?”

“Just about,” I admitted. Like my ability to distinguish friend from foe, I was excellent at ferreting out problems with relationships, careers, and anything else that might be leveraged for personal gain.

Which, yes, sounded terrible. Itwasterrible. But everyone had to make a living.

“Is that where you met Arthur?” I asked. “At the library?”

“Yeah. I, uh, well…” Her voice trailed off and she looked toward the kitchen door. “We’re not allowed to use the library system to look up the personal details of our patrons. But when Arthur didn’t show up for a few days, I started to worry and did it anyway. My boss had no choice but to fire me.”

“Good for you, honey.”

She stared in surprise, but there was no chance for her to ask what I meant. Arthur came struggling through the kitchen door carrying a tea tray.

“Let me get that for you.” Sloane sprang to her feet and, after only a minor tussle, managed to wrest the tray from Arthur’s determined grip. It said a lot about her that she only spilled half the coffee while she did it. For all her fragility, she had some serious steel where this man was concerned.

“I’m not dead yet,” Arthur grumbled. “I can carry a pot of coffee through my own living room.”

“AndIlooked up the side effects of your medication,” Sloane countered. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything, let alone scalding beverages.”