"No one else has"-she breaks off to use finger quotes-"'evening chocolate' but you."

"Ah-ah." I wag my finger at her. "Not true. A ton of people have evening chocolate just like I do."

She's referring to the stash of chocolate I keep in the top cabinet in the kitchen. She'd discovered it recently and accused me of holding out on her. When I told her I didn't share my evening chocolate-which is specifically dark chocolate-she looked at me like I was crazy.

"As opposed to 'morning chocolate,' I suppose?"

Tapping a finger against my lips, I pretend to be deep in thought. "Hmm, I don't have morning chocolate, but I think you might be on to something."

"It's confirmed." She gives a short nod to punctuate her words. "You're weird."

"What? You're acting like no one else has special chocolate. Come on," I protest, "tell me the truth." Deepening my voice, I cock my head. "Do you have a special chocolate, Mags?"

For a split second, it's like she's mesmerized and under the spell of my voice, her eyes darkening with ... lust?

But only for a split second. Because as fast as it happens, it's gone.

Smiling up at me sweetly, she leans toward me, placing her palm flat against my chest. "Wouldn't you like to know."

And just like that, this round goes to Maggie.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

Maggie "It's ... not you, it's me. I just can't do this ..."

I stare back at Tim oddly. "You can't ... have drinks with a woman?" I pause for a beat. "In a bar?"

What. The. Heck? It's not like I'm asking him to watch dinosaur porn with me, for God's sake. Tim had been the one to ask me to meet up with him for a drink after work.

I repeat: He. Asked. Me.

He had been in our office, talking with another consultant, and when my coworker had introduced me in passing, I noticed the interest in his eyes. So it wasn't a surprise when he stopped by my office after their meeting, chatted a bit, and asked me out for a drink after work to celebrate the fact that it was Friday. When I had suggested we meet down the street at my favorite place that makes their own craft microbrews, he'd readily agreed.

Now, however, Tim's completely bugging out. And I can't even exchange one of those What the heck is going on right now? looks with Ry since he's currently in the men's room. I mean, seriously. What could have taken place in the brief time it took me to use the restroom? Ry had arrived a few minutes after I returned to my seat at the bar beside Tim.

"I just think it's too soon. Great meeting you, though." Tim slips off the barstool after tossing down money for our drinks at the bar. He grabs my hand to shake it so aggressively, I nearly feel a case of whiplash coming on. Then, in the blink of an eye, he's gone.

Dazed, I'm still staring after him when Ry returns, sliding into Tim's now vacant seat.

"He had to go somewhere?"

"Apparently so." My words are slow, drawn out. When I swivel my seat back toward the bar, I instantly catch sight of the money Tim had tossed onto the bar.

"Whoa." I reach out to finger the bill. It's a fifty.

My eyes fly to Ry, and he looks amused. "Well, I guess this TGIF celebration will be courtesy of Tim."

Propping my chin in my hand, I stare into my glass of beer. "He talked about us getting together for dinner. Or maybe even catching a hockey game."

"Please, Mags." He gives me a look. "You dodged a bullet with that one. Pretty sure he's about as exciting as a night in reading Homer's Odyssey."

I make a face. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Would you rather I talk about his hair? Because it sucked worse than an Amish virgin."

I throw up my hands. "Where do you even come up with this stuff?"

"It's a gift," he deadpans with a dramatic sigh. "God gifted me with wit, but it's honestly so taxing sometimes."

Eyes closed with a groan, I drop my chin to my chest. "Why me?"

He slings an arm around my shoulder. "You love me, you know. Would be lost without me."

I huff. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Now, come on." He reaches for a bar napkin, holding a palm out for me to provide a pen.

With a long sigh, I pull a pen from my small purse and slap it into his palm.

"Now." His eyes focus on writing on the napkin. "I want someone who will stay and have a drink or two and not bug out," he says as he writes.

Peering over at him, I wait to see if he's going to crack a grin, but it appears that he's serious. "I want the same." Then, with a weary sigh, I add, "Obviously." When Ry hands me the pen and napkin, I quickly jot down my response.

I want a guy who will actually stick around long enough to finish a drink.

Huh. If only I were kidding. Seems like every guy so far has left their drink either half full or more.

Ry's arm nudges mine. "Hey, don't be so glum. We have drinks on us tonight, Mags."

"Yeah," I say without an ounce of enthusiasm. With a sigh, I turn to him. "Actually, I feel like just going home. It's been a crappy week, and I just want to go home and veg out."

Ry flags down the bartender we're familiar with, who's always super-efficient and friendly. Handing over the fifty-dollar bill, which covers our tab more than four times over, he wishes him a good night before helping me off the barstool and exiting the bar.

I'm in my frumpiest pair of sleep shorts-the kind that are loose when you're on your period and feel as appealing as that creature in the movie The Predator-and a tank top when I come out to the couch where Ry's lounging.

"Can I get your help?"

Turning his attention from the television to me, his curious gaze hits me, noticing the large box I'm holding.

"What do you need?"

"Can we ..." I drop my gaze to the box, suddenly embarrassed. "Can we take this down to the patio's fire pit and burn all of it?" My voice is muted. When he doesn't respond, I raise my eyes.

Dropping his bare feet back down from where they're propped on the edge of the coffee table, he presses the remote control to turn off the TV. Rising from the couch, he takes a step closer, peering at the box before his eyes watch me intently.

"What's in the box, Mags?" His tone is subdued, a mixture of curiosity and tenderness. And understanding.

"Pictures." My eyes beg him not to make me elaborate. And, thank God, he gets it.

Briefly nodding, he steps closer, cups my face in his hands, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. Stepping around me, he tosses over his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

When he emerges a moment later, he's tugged on a hooded sweatshirt, one hand holding another sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Taking the box from my hands, he sets it on the coffee table. He tugs the hooded sweatshirt down over my head, helping me slide my arms through the large sleeves. When he carefully pulls my long hair out, my chest aches at the way he smooths it down. Makes it hard to breathe.

Handing me the sweatpants, he nods, gesturing to my bare legs. "You need to cover yourself, or you'll freeze outside."

Slipping on the pants over my shorts, I have to roll the waistband a few times because they're so long. Once I'm sufficiently covered for the colder weather outside, I take a deep, fortifying breath.

"Let's do this." Reaching down, I grab the box and hold it tight to my chest.

I know it's long overdue to get rid of these reminders. I'd actually forgotten about this box in the back of my closet, but tonight, something made me think of it. And at that moment, I knew. Tonight was it.

It's time to rid myself of the last remaining tie.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

Ry I'm not sure what brought this on, but I'm not about to second-guess the fact that Maggie wants to-that she's ready to-rid herself of the photos of her and Shane's relationship. The callous, caveman part of me wants to beat my chest with my fist and yell at this step forward while the other part of me knows this isn't exactly going to be a cakewalk for her.

This much is apparent in her silent demeanor and the crease between her eyebrows as we ride down the elevator.

I follow her out of the elevator as we exit through the side doors of the lobby leading to the patio. Luckily, no one is gathered at the fire.

Maggie takes a seat on one of the cushioned patio chairs, and I slide into one beside her.

"I know you think I'm crazy. Doing this. But it's just ... Something just clicked tonight ..." Her words trail off as she turns back to face the fire.

"I don't think you're crazy, Mags." I shake my head, my tone fierce. "Not even remotely." Reaching out, I gently turn her face to me. "I think you're the most incredible woman I've ever met. Kind, funny, sweet, and beautiful." I swallow past the emotion lodged in my throat at the heartfelt truth in my words. "You're the whole package."

You're everything I've ever wanted.

Her attention falls to the box, carefully pulling the cardboard flaps apart. With a weak smile, she asks, "Ready to help?"

"Always."

Grabbing a stack of photos, she hands them to me. It makes me smile because Maggie's one of the few people who still takes the time to have digital photos printed. Because she wants to keep the memories so vivid and on display. Our apartment is scattered with numerous framed photos of her and Sarah, of Maggie and me from various outings, along with some of the girls out with Jack and me. I love it because it shows that we're important to her.

Gazing down at the top photo on the stack she's given me, something pinches in my chest. It must have been taken when she and Shane had first started dating. They look like a couple so much in love.

Inhaling deeply, I have to say the words. As painful as they might be, I have to say it. "Mags, if you're not ready-"

"I am." Her voice is soft yet firm. When she jumps up from her seat, she sets the box down with one thick stack of photos in her hand. She gives them a hefty toss into the flames, and we watch as the fire rapidly eats away at them.

Destroying memories.

Damn, this is hard for me. God only knows how it must be for her right now.

"Mags-"

In an instant, she heaves another handful into the flames. Then another, repeating the process until the only remaining stack of photographs is the one in my hand.

Turning, she eyes me. "Are you going to toss them in?"

"I, uh, don't know that I should be the one doing this. They're yours."

"Fine." She huffs out a breath, grabbing the photos from me and quickly tossing them in with the others. Or what might remain of the others, more aptly.

We stand side by side, watching the flames flicker, burning the memories until they're nothing but ashes that float away with the cool, night breeze.

I'm at a loss for words. Because I know she has to be hurting, regardless of the fact that she says she's over him.

Turning to her, I open my arms, and she steps into my embrace, wrapping her arms around me. Eyes falling closed, I run my hands up and down her back in what I hope is a soothing manner.

"Love you, Ry." Her words, spoke against my chest, are barely audible, so softly spoken.

"I love you, too." I press a kiss to her hair, resting my cheek against it.

More than you know.

I heave myself onto Jack's couch with a tired groan, slumping down onto the soft leather. "God, I'm exhausted."

Sitting in the oversized chair, he looks over at me, one eyebrow raised, tipping his beer to his lips. "I don't doubt it. I mean"-he takes a swig before gesturing to me with his beer-"what, with clam jamming poor Maggie all the time."

"The one dude actually tried to kiss me."

Jack chokes on the swig of beer he's just taken. Fist covering his mouth, he coughs into it before finally regaining composure. "You're serious."

Leaning my head back against the couch, my eyes fall shut. "Dead serious."

"Did he get far?" There's a pause. "Did he get a little handsy?"

My eyes fly open to glare at him, and I see Jack grinning. "You think this is funny?"

"I think it's hilarious as shit." He tips his head to the side with a wide smirk on his face. "Tell me the truth. Did you play hard to get?" When I hurl a pillow at him, he swats it away without batting an eye, expression turning serious. "You know she's getting pretty fed up with you, right? Especially since some of the guys ended up leaving with you at the end of the night."