I hate my lot in life right now.

I hate my last newspaper and the fact that it couldn’t survive.

I hate my mother and her inability to take care of the two of us when she was supposed to. I hate that I had to do it before my own time.

What I hate most, though, is that I was assigned a story that invigorated me professionally and shredded my heart personally.

But I’m a big girl. I’ve been through tougher times.

Raising my chin, I suck in the emotion and tell myself I’ll live off the memories of this man and how he made me feel like my life was easy, because being with him is the easiest thing in the world.

He sighs. “So, this is it.”

I smile sadly. “I wish I had something else to fact-check.”

He licks his lips and steps closer to me. “Me too. Maybe next time we could fact-check at the Met. Another one of your favorite places.”

“I feel like we’ve gone to all my favorite places these last several days. What about yours?”

“I have new favorite places now.” He reaches for a lock of my hair, running his finger over the end as it curls.

Something inside me melts. The final piece of ice that encased my heart when Ray left me cracks, splitting down the middle, leaving me raw but also ready for another chance.

No more ice. My heart is open.

It’s telling me to take a chance with him.

I can’t let the heart fool me though.

Life isn’t a fairy tale. The modern-day maiden must be practical above all. I might want to toss responsibility into the breeze like dandelions, then skip and tra-la-la my way home with him, but I have bills.

And, more importantly, bills have me.

But if I keep looking at his handsome face, his square jaw, his gorgeous green eyes, I’ll buckle.

I tear my gaze away from his magnetic eyes, and something catches my attention on a nearby park bench—the plaque on the top slat of wood, shining as if it has been polished today.

I point to it. “What’s that?”

We walk closer and we read it together out loud, our voices forming melody and harmony. “Tony, win, lose, or break even, you always have me. Love, Karen.”

I look at Flynn. We both shrug then smile.

“One more adventure?” I offer, a note of hope in my voice. “We need to know what that means.”

“Clearly.”

We whip out our phones in unison, and we google like it’s a race.

“It’s an inscription,” he says excitedly.

“A wife surprised her husband,” I say, the words piling up in a rush.

“For his sixty-fifth birthday,” he adds.

And we laugh as we each read the details from an article on the many benches in this park. We learn Tony was a retired investment banker. When he came home from work, his wife, Karen, used to ask him if he won, lost, or broke even.