It wasn’t the first time her brother-in-law had come and found her, wanting to talk. Usually it was on the one day a week she still worked for him—a job Libby thought she’d given up, but a twin had to eat—but this was the first time Nick had approached her outside of those hours.

The conversation always followed a familiar pattern—she listened to his regrets and then suggested he find an impartial professional to talk to. Although he nodded his agreement, he kept seeking her out and she doubted he’d spoken to anyone. Experienced marriage counselors were thin on the ground in the bay. Ones with expertise in dealing with the complication of a child whose mother was the wife’s best friend were non-existent. Even in Melbourne they weren’t exactly easy to find.

These conversations with Nick tore Alice in half. Her allegiance lay with Libby—most of it anyway—but she loved Nick and it was clear he was floundering. She worried about his mental health and that’s why she always gave him her time. The only person who understood her dilemma was her father. She’d discussed it with him and he’d told her not to tell Karen or Libby, but the advice was unnecessary. Alice’s gut instincts warned her it would be unwise, but she hated that the secret existed. If Libby and Nick’s situation had taught her anything, it was that when secrets came out, it was the betrayal of the hiding that wrought pain and suffering.

Knowing all of that didn’t help—saying no to Nick wasn’t an option in case he went and did something stupid.

“Give me five minutes, Nick. Okay?”

Nick nodded and walked back toward his office.

“Is he okay?” Harry asked, clearly concerned. “He’s got the look.”

“What look?”

“The quiet desperation of someone grieving.” Harry shrugged at her double-take. “I’m familiar with it. Saw it in the mirror every morning for a long time.”

His matter-of-fact tone made her ask, “What about now?”

“It comes and goes.” He cleared his throat and moved them both away from Holly. “So that bloke. Is he the one sending you photos?”

“God, no!” Intense embarrassment crashed through her and she felt the flush rise up her neck and keep going until it hit her hairline. Indignation followed. “And even if he was, it’s none of your business.”

“True. Sorry.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “It’s just …”

“What?”

“It’s the way he looked at you. Like he was apologizing for something big, like a dick move—or picture.”

Alice smiled. “I’m learning in the war of modern dating, men don’t apologize for random photos of their junk.”

“Sounds tough out there.”

You have no idea. “Hmm.”

“So who is he?”