I tucked up next to her. “Just to establish some ground rules,” I said, “do we hate him and think he’s evil, or do we trust him and think it’s a misunderstanding?”

Bridge laugh-cried. “I don’t know. Either? Both. How could he do this to me?”

I thought both would be a bad call, so I picked a lane. And with uncharacteristic evenhandedness I picked the lane marked benefit of the doubt. “He might not have. Liz might have made a mistake.”

“Liz is pretty smart. Plus, she’s a vicar.”

“I don’t think that makes her infallible.”

“No, but it means I feel bad calling her a liar.” Bridge snapped off a triangle of Toblerone. “This was a good call, thanks. I don’t know why we only buy them at Christmas.”

I took a nibble of the Dairy Milk. There was an art to this kind of supportive binge—one I’d learned mostly from being on the other side of it. You needed to share enough that you weren’t just watching the other person eat but not take so much that you actually limited their access to comfort food. “I don’t think she’s lying, just that there’s lots of reasons Tom could be talking to a random woman in a café.”

“Name five.”

I nearly choked on my chocolate. “That’s not fair. Five is loads.”

“Okay.” Bridge pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself. “Name three.”

“Old school friend, sister he’s never mentioned—”

“I’ve met his sister,” interrupted Bridge. “Also the woman in the photo was white.”

“Adopted sister we’ve never heard of.”

She gave me a disappointed look. “You’re only on the second one, and you’ve already gone to bad sitcom territory.”

“Hey, that trope has been in some very good sitcoms.”

“I’d ask you to name three but that’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”

“Fine.” I stared at the Toblerone for inspiration and found none forthcoming. “What if he’s hiring her to set up a lovely surprise for your wedding, and when he tells you what it is, you’ll be so overjoyed that you forget this ever happened?”

Bridge glanced up suspiciously from the Caramel Chew Chew. “What sort of surprise?”

“Maybe he’s…he’s arranging a flash mob to do ‘All You Need Is Love’?”

For about eighteen nanoseconds, Bridge let this idea calm her. “I do love Love Actually.”

“Hell, maybe he’s even arranging for some creeper with a camcorder to take stalkery footage of you all night.”

The eighteen nanoseconds were over. “Or maybe he’s cheating on me like Alan Rickman. What if he bought that woman a necklace? What if he got her sex and a necklace? What if—”