Page 120 of This Woman Forever

“Why?”

“I don’t fucking know,” John grumbles. “Not that it matters because I can’t fucking find them.”

I press my lips together. Sarah would put her hands on the plans in a beat, just like she did the security contract. John looks up at me, thinking the same. “I can’t, John,” I say, getting up and walking to the window. “I value my marriage and my wife’s feelings too much.”

He sighs. “Ava’s a reasonable woman.”

I cough over my laugh. “She’s also very hormonal right now. Let’s reverse the situation, shall we?”

“What?”

“If Ava came to me and told me she’d continue working for Van Der Haus after what he attempted.”

“You don’t know beyond doubt that Van Der Haus did anything.”

True, but he’s after my woman and that’s enough. “Still, I wouldn’t have it, so I’m in no position to stand in Sarah’s corner.”

“Then we struggle on.”

“We do.” I head out.

“Where the fuck are you going?” John calls.

I stall, my hand on the doorknob. “Breakfast.” I swing it open and go to the bar, snagging a menu. I don’t think I’ve ever read the breakfast menu.

“Since when do you eat breakfast?” John joins me and sits on a stool, waving Pete for a coffee.

“Since today.” It wouldn’t be very reasonable of me to force-feed Ava and skip meals myself. “Isn’t there any peanut butter on this menu?” I ask, unimpressed.

John chuckles, as if my favorite thing’s absence from my own fucking menu is funny, and Pete’s quick to pacify me. “Not on the menu,” he says. “But we keep a stock.”

“Why isn’t it on the menu?”

“Well, sir, it’s an acquired taste, you see.”

“Is it?” I ask, as John’s laughing increases. I can’t even feel grateful for the therapeutic sound.

The fucker.

“An acquired taste... like you,” John adds, and I slowly turn an evil glare his way.

“Fuck off.”

“Now, now, kids.” Drew, suited and booted, strolls into the bar.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Meeting Sam for breakfast.” He leans past John and claims the coffee Pete’s just placed on the bar. “I think he’s lovesick.”

“No shit,” I quip. “And you’re going to make him feel better, are you?”

“How you wound me.” Drew takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces. “What the fuck is this shit?”

“Black Americano,” John growls, claiming the coffee. “Get your own, boy.”

“What’s eating him?” Drew asks, taking his stool as John leaves us.

“Me, I think.”