“If it’s been decided, who am I to change your fancy plans?” Mrs. Patrinsky says. “But I was once told that my voice could call the angels home.”

“More like wake the dead,” Connor mutters in my ear when she’s gone.

I bite back a giggle. “She can’t be that bad.”

“The ladies at St. Catherine’s started a petition to get her to stop singing during mass. It’s that bad.” He winks at me then turns back to the stack of volunteer packets we’ve been preparing all morning.

Something tugs in my chest. Connor and I used to be good friends, but we screwed that up. Now we never talk because it would hurt Della, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him.

“What does Della think of me working here?”

He stills but doesn’t look at me. “She doesn’t like it.”

I’m sure that came as a shock to no one. “So why haven’t I been let go?”

Slowly, he turns to me, but first he looks over his shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “She never told her parents about what happened between you and me.” He takes a breath, his regret clear in the grimace on his face. “She doesn’t want them to know.”

“I don’t understand. You didn’t do anything wrong, Connor. You two were broken up. She was moving out of your apartment.”

“In Della’s eyes, I betrayed her.” He shrugs. “But that’s why you’re still here. She doesn’t want her parents to know. And as long as they don’t, both of our lives will be better.”

I hang my head. “I hate feeling like your dirty secret.”

He steps closer. “Liz . . .”

I look up and sigh. He’s so tall and lanky and adorably goofy. And I’m still not sure Della deserves him. “What?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I just want you to know—”

“How are those changes on my speech coming?” Mr. Bradshaw asks, making Connor and I jump.

“Changes?” I ask.

Connor steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking guilty as hell. That’s the kind of guy he is. He always feels guilty and takes the blame, even when he’s innocent. “I emailed some notes to you last night,” Connor tells me. Then he turns to Mr. Bradshaw. “We’ve been busy with volunteers all morning and haven’t worked on it yet.”

“Let me know when you have a new draft,” Mr. Bradshaw says. “I’ll be in my office.”

“Okay, sir,” I squeak. “Absolutely.”

Connor immediately goes to the conference table and boots up his laptop.

“What were you saying?” I ask. I sit down on my side of the table and retrieve my laptop from its case. “Before we were interrupted.”

Connor exhales heavily and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, I boot up my computer, preparing to load my email and see what changes Mr. Bradshaw wants to the speech. The Something Real chat application loads automatically, and my computer dings with a chat notification from River.

Riverrat69: Tell me what you’re wearing today.

Crap. I shouldn’t have this on at work. I flick my gaze to Connor, but he’s got his headphones on and he’s absorbed in whatever he’s working on. A quick reply wouldn’t hurt.

Tink24: Black dress, pink heels, pink sweater. I’m fucking adorable.

Riverrat69: I don’t doubt it, but I’m more interested in what you’re wearing beneath all that. Or you could just send me another picture if you prefer.

I squirm and make sure Connor’s still absorbed in his work. Then I close my eyes and picture Sam at his desk at the bank, typing those words. That’s all it takes for my body to go warm, flushed all over.

Tink24: No pictures today, naughty.

Riverrat69: Fair enough. It will only make me want you in the flesh that much more.

Tink24: I dreamed about you last night.

Riverrat69: Anything good?

Tink24: All of it was good. Except the waking up alone part. That part sucked.

Riverrat69: Feeling a little frustrated, are we?

Frustrated is an understatement. Abstinence hasn’t been good to me. Maybe it’s just all the pressure of making sure I find the right guy, but it’s almost as if the moment I decided I was holding out for the one, every guy I’ve connected with has failed in the physical connection category.

Tink24: I miss sex.

Riverrat69: Surely with all these dates you’ve been on, you’ve gotten a few moments of satisfaction?

Tink24: You overestimate the men in this town. This last guy I took home . . . he was a good kisser—usually you can tell by their kisses. Then he invited me back to his place and got his hand in my panties and I swear he thought he was trying to prime a lawnmower to start, the way he kept pressing on my clit. Jab, jab, jab. Is that supposed to do something for me?

Truth be told, it wasn’t his total lack of finesse with the female anatomy that crossed him off my list. It was that being around him did nothing for me. He was nice enough, just bland. Every man who hasn’t been completely objectionable has felt bland to me. With two exceptions: Sam and Riverrat69. Or is that one exception?

Riverrat69: You’re exaggerating. We’re talking fingering here, not rocket science.

I bite back a laugh, and Connor looks up from his computer and cocks his head. I clear my throat. “Just an email from my sister,” I lie. “She’s hilarious.”