Love Changes Everything

By Carolyn Chambers Clark and Anthony Auriemma

In Love Changes Everything, thirty-year-old New Jersey born, New York employed Cassie Morgan has everything she could want—except a job she likes, an apartment she can afford, and the right man to love.

When Cassie's boyfriend runs off to marry her roommate, Cassie can't afford to keep her apartment any more. When she can’t find a roommate to share expenses, she's forced to move in with a fashion designer and a chef who make it their mission to teach her how to cook, dress for success, and deal with her sister-in-law's breast cancer surgery while being surrogate Mom for her nephew, and win back an old college love whom she hasn’t seen in years.
The only problem is--dating him breaks her cardinal rule.

Now she has to decide whether to move on or break her rule and find love

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carolyn Chambers Clark
• Release date: Mar 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463657621

Carolyn Chambers Clark

Carolyn Chambers Clark is a board-certified advanced holistic nurse practitioner with a master's degree in mental health nursing and a doctorate in education. She is a faculty member in the Health Services Doctoral Program at Walden University, and she hosts http://home.earthlink.net/~cccwellness and http://HolisticHealth.bellaonline.com.

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Carolyn Chambers Clark, LOVE CHANGES EVERYTHING 386

Copyright, Carolyn Chambers Clark & Anthony Auriemma, 2011-2019

SMASHWORDS Edition

LOVE CHANGES EVERYTHING

Chapter 1

One phone call changed my life.

The tang of medicines and floor wax floated her way as I slumped into a chair in the nursing office on 13A, the short-term psychiatric unit of New York City Hospital. I stared at her ringing cell phone.

I clicked on the message and peeked at her phone screen. I couldn't make out most of the words or maybe I didn't want to. This message didn’t concern a patient who thought he was Napoleon or one who’d convinced herself the staff were CIA. A quick blink and the scrambled letters rearranged themselves into readable sentences.

Dear Cassie,

Brett asked me to marry him and I accepted.

Flight leaves this afternoon.

Lola

Stunned, I swallowed hard and tried to digest the message. My boyfriend Brett and Lola, my roommate? What a nightmare. Betrayal and hurt surged through me. Two people I loved and trusted, gone out of her life, leaving me alone.

Before I closed her phone, the rest of the message burned its way into my brain.

P.S. The apartment is yours.

Blood pounded in her ears and then her forehead. The rent! The very reason Lola and I became roommates two years ago.

You can handle this, you can handle this…You're a mental health specialist…You can't handle this…

She spied Dr. Daniels, the head of psychiatry, or Dr. Roving Hands as the other nurses called him. He raised an eyebrow above gray eyes and sauntered toward me, a leer forming on his handsome face.

Not now!

Dr. Daniels peered into her eye. Are you all right, Cassie? You look pale. How about going to lunch with me? Arms outstretched, he headed for me, ready to put his hand around my shoulder or somewhere else it didn't belong.

I ducked out of his reach. Don't date doctors. And you're married.

What about the medical school dinner then? I have tickets.

Before he could catch up to me, I rushed into the linen closet. Fingers shaking, I dialed Pamela, my best friend, who ruled over the other side of the thirteenth floor.

Cassie? Pamela’s voice sounded far away. What's up?

He—she— I choked on the words and gasped for air. I tried to speak again, but nothing came out.

Take a deep breath, Pamela ordered. Take your time.

After a few attempts to suck in air, I forced some words out. That rat ran off. My hands felt icy. With my roommate. Rage skyrocketed through my veins.

Which rat? Pamela considered all men rats.

Brett. I could barely spit out his name.

Brett and Lola? Are you all right?

No. Can't breathe. A queasy feeling invaded my stomach. I tasted chocolate donut working its way back up my throat. Going to vomit.

Sit down and put your head between your knees.

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears from dripping down my chin. Can't. Linen closet's the size of a postage stamp. This can't be happening! She shook her head in dismay.

A brisk knock from the outside and a rattling of the door handle preceded Dr. Daniels’ voice. Come out, Cassie.

I shoved a huge box of toilet paper in front of the door to hold him back.

Who's that? Pamela said. Did Brett come back?

No. It's Daniels. I took a deep breath and the nausea faded. Dumped by my boyfriend, alone in an apartment I can't afford, dead end job, and closeted by a sex-crazed psychiatrist. What else could happen?

Don't ask. Pamela used an ominous tone. I read somewhere that kind of statement could bring on a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Two dates with a psychoanalyst doesn't make you an expert on my mental health options.

Touché, but Brett didn't give you any clues at all?

"No lipstick on the collar, no perfume on the shirt. None. How could they? In my bed! The images made her insides churn. She slammed her fist down on a pile of sheets. A light bulb fell off the top shelf and smashed onto the floor.

You okay, Cassie?

She stared at the broken glass on the floor and stepped on it, crushing it into a thousand pieces, picturing Brett and Lola smashing beneath her foot.

Cassie?

I'm okay. She took an agonized breath. What a dope I was. She pictured the two of them doing it; blond, tan Brett with that jutting chin and broad shoulders, and dark, seductive Lola.

Pamela groaned. She must have seduced him when you were out of town for that seminar on advanced family therapy. Men always pretend they can't control themselves.

He probably went after her. We'd been fighting.

Pamela paused. Forget him. That's no reason to stray. He’s not good enough for you anyway. Never was. You still have that guy from your home town who’s crazy about you.

Tommy? She pictured his face and swallowed hard. He’d been so cute at the junior prom with his sandy colored hair, freckles on his nose, bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and curly lashes. She loved just looking into his eyes for hours. But that was years ago. Past history.

Yes, Tommy. When you're ready, swallow your pride and call him.

Cassie trembled and found herself consumed with rage and the wish for revenge. I gotta go. Bye.

She glanced at her watch. Not yet noon. Those two bottom dwellers might be in the apartment. Cassie spun around in the closet, looking for a weapon, but nothing jumped out at her. Maybe she could strangle them with a sheet, or bop them both over the head with a bedpan, but she'd look pretty suspicious carrying either item out of the hospital. Not to mention that violence was against her principles.

Just as well. She didn't want their blood on her hands. At least not too much of it. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, but she refused to cry.

Instead, she dialed her apartment and listened to herself breathe.

Hello? Cassie recognized the female voice. Lola.

Remembering too late she had caller ID, Cassie clicked off the phone. So what if they knew who'd called? Maybe they'd be shaking in their shoes. More likely they'd be laughing at what a fool she was.

She shoved the box of toilet paper back to its place under the shelves of towels and sheets and slowly opened the door. Dr. Daniels wandered to the nurses' station and propped himself up against the desk to whisper into the head nurse’s ear. Cassie didn’t even want to think about what he must be saying.

With Casanova occupied, she slipped out of the closet and headed for the elevator, readying her excuse if she met her boss in the hall. Everyone deserved an early lunch once in a while, and this was hers. Cancel that, she’d become violently ill and needed to take half a sick day.

Forget about waiting for the subway. Out on the curb, she hailed a yellow cab.

***

The beep of a car horn alerted Tom Berelli. He glanced at the other side of the street to see what the commotion was about. Red hair. Turned-up nose. Curvy body and swaying hips.

Cassie! Cassie Morgan. Tom waved and called out her name. He hadn't seen her in so many years and now here she was. Old feelings of excitement came rushing back and he was eighteen again, in love, entirely focused on the one woman in the world he wanted.

She must not have heard him because she stepped into a cab on the other side of the street.

Cassie. Tom shouted her name again and raced across the street, ducking out of the way of traffic.

When he arrived on the other side, Cassie's cab pulled away from the curb. Cassie. Wait. He stood on the curb and watched her drive away. Then he turned and jumped into a waiting taxi.

Follow that cab, he shouted to the driver.

Four yellow taxis poured up the street.

What are you, freaking nuts? Which cab? The driver, an older man with a Brooklyn accent and a diamond ring on his pinkie surveyed Tom in his rear-view mirror with a cocked eyebrow.

I think it was that one making a left turn.

The driver gunned his cab into the left turn lane.

Tom leaned forward and thought he saw a flash of red hair in a cab moving north. No, no. It's that one approaching the intersection.

The driver pulled into the right lane and stopped at the red light. He glanced into the rear-view mirror, a disgusted expression on his face. Does this have something to do with a female?

Tom felt his face go hot. Yes.

The driver tapped the steering wheel and leaned back in his seat. What, you saw this pretty girl, and now you want to date her?

No, it's nothing like that. He paused. Maybe something like that, but I know her. We went to high school together.

From the looks of you buddy, that was some time ago.

One war and a long stint in rehab. Tom rubbed his shoulder where pain still lingered from his war injuries.

Don't you think she maybe has a life of her own by now?

Maybe. Tom sank down into his seat, excitement turning into disappointment.

Besides, do you know how much trouble I could get into following someone? Now, if you had a destination, I could take you there. Otherwise, following a cab, that's only done in the movies.

Tom let out a long, depressed sigh. You're right. I should go back to my hotel.

Okay, buddy. Piece of advice. Go back there, take a cold shower, and have a nice meal. Now, which hotel?

***

Cassie ran her fingers through her hair. She stopped just short of pulling out a handful. As the cab bounced along in and out of potholes, she called the hospital and left a message that she went home sick. Only a slight lie. She was heart sick.

All the way downtown, she stared at her fingernails and tried to figure out what to say once she got home.

The driver let her out on Bleecker Street. She advanced on her apartment, key in hand. She needn't have bothered. Either Brett or Lola had propped the front door open and the two of them huffed and puffed, dragging Cassie’s couch across the living room floor.

What are you doing? She stepped in front of them, anger pulsating in her gut. That's my couch. I bought it at Pier One four years ago. She wanted to throw something at Lola, but settled for firing words in her direction.

Brett ducked his head, but Lola acted as if the couch was hers. We're taking Brett's couch. He said he gave it to you.

Fireballs of rage attacked her insides. Cassie walked up to Brett and Lola and put a fiery hand of ownership on one of the cushions. Back off, both of you.

A caught-in-the lie expression on his face, Brett released the couch, picked up two suitcases and headed for the door. He stopped halfway to his destination and turned to face the two women. The creep probably wanted to witness Cassie’s final disgrace.

They must have guessed she’d come to confront them because at that moment Lola stepped to the counter and came back with her arms full. These are yours. She handed over a photo of Brett and her with his picture cut out, a tube of anise toothpaste, an orange sweater of Brett’s knitted with Cassie’s own hands, a striped dress that went missing months ago, and half a bottle of red wine.

Cassie so wanted to clobber Brett with the picture, stuff toothpaste up his nose, and then strangle him with the sweater. Instead, she opened her mouth and sputtered until words came out. After all those hours I’d spent knitting and ripping out rows to come up with something that halfway fit. You never even wore it and let me know some of the rows were crooked. Tears welled up in her eyes. It’s the thought that counts, but you never understood. I could have just gone out and bought you a sweater, but I spent my free time knitting you one.

He stared at Cassie as if she was an alien speaking Martian.

You don't get it, do you? There's a difference between just buying something and actually making it.

Lola stepped in. We only drink Chablis. She used a superior tone. And Brett hated this rag so much, she pointed to the dress, that he hid it from you. And that sweater's laughable. Here's a tip. Learn how to dress and cook if you want to keep a man.

Mouth gaping open over what she just heard, Cassie received Lola's gifts. The sum total of her time together with Brett.

Okay, so Lola could cook and knew how to dress to play down her weak points. When Cassie finally got her breath under control, she narrowed her eyes to slits. How could you do this to me? We were friends and roommates before I even met Brett.

Lola raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. Things change. We had quite a few laughs over your strange sexual practices in the hospital linen closet. He's even going to write about it in his new book. He' calling it BETWEEN HER LEGS. They both laughed.

Cassie’s heart stopped. He told her? Their secret? Wrote about it? Embarrassment and rage rolled through her veins.

Brett. Cassie faced him, hands on her hips and fighting to keep her voice from shaking. Why didn't you ask me or at least tell me about Lola, about the book?

Don't blame this on Brett. Lola stepped in front of him like a guard dog. You worked extra hours. You were never here for him. He needs someone who'll recognize his creative genius.

Creative genius? The guy's never written a thing in his entire life and stay out of this, Lola. This is between me and Brett. Go smoke a cigar in the lobby or something. Cassie shook a fist at her.

She must have seen the fury in Cassie’s eyes. I'll get a cab, sweetie. She waved in Brett’s direction and disappeared out the door.

He gave Cassie a condescending smile. It's not her fault. This has been coming on for a long time. Lola understands me. We have common goals.

She used to find his smile endearing. Now it only revolted her. Common goals? You mean like stealing a sofa?

You've turned into some kind of holier-than-thou nag. I hardly know you anymore. He glared at her.

That look on his face made her wonder how she’d ever thought she loved him. I don't think you know me at all, and I certainly never guessed what you were all about.

Whatever. He picked up the suitcases. Sorry if I hurt you, but you'll get back together with that guy from your hometown you're so fond of.

What guy? Tommy? An image of her and Tommy sharing a passionate kiss forced its way into her mind. Why would you think I'd get together with him?

Because you always talked about him. Everything I ever did you compared to how Tommy would do it. A man can take just so much. He headed for the door.

If that's how you feel…just leave. Her words hung in the air like tiny exclamation points.

I will. Face it, Cassie, we don't love each other anymore. He squared his shoulders in her direction, but avoided looking her in the eye.

Did we ever love each other? She looked at him and felt only hate and humiliation. This is the worst thing anyone's ever done to me. Tears clogged her eyes and ran down her face. I want you to know how much you've hurt me.

You'll get over it. You're strong. He gave her a weak smile.

Why Lola? For some reason, she wanted to keep this argument up, rub his nose in his actions, not let him just leave. Maybe she thought he'd choose her over Lola, and run back into her arms.

Brett gave her a nasty look. She needs me. You never did.

Cassie stared at him, speechless. She wanted to make him feel as devastated as she did, make him beg her to take him back. The expression on his face told her he just wanted to leave.

Good bye, Cassie. He turned his back on her.

Wait! You're not really going to write about us, are you? Not about the closet. Brett? Brett!

He kept walking.

She picked up a pillow and hurled it at him, but missed. It smacked onto the hardwood floor and spun around. The door slammed behind him while she fell onto the couch, sobbing.

That's when she opened the bottle of wine.

Cassie heard her doorbell ring just as she finished her third glass. When she opened the door, Pamela breezed in, all five-foot-four inches of her, but with enough chutzpah to punch out two heavyweights.

Are you okay? Pamela pulled Cassie into her arms and gave her a breath-stopping hug. That jerk. I hope you gave him what for.

Cassie let her head drop onto Pamela’s shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and face powder. They were the same size and used to borrow each other’s clothes in college. She pulled back and surveyed her friend. Was that Cassie’s blue-stripped skirt Pamela was wearing?

I just can’t believe he’d treat me this way. He was so great when we first met. He bubbled over with compliments.

Of course. He was on the prowl. Pamela threw her bag on the couch and kicked off her shoes. She sat down and took one of the wrapped peppermints out of the bowl on the coffee table. I have the perfect antidote. My uncles in New Jersey have mob connections. They can send the little men with the violin cases to get rid of Brett or just scare him. Say the word.

Cassie smiled at the image. She wanted to scare him, but she just couldn't. She refused to sink to his level. At least not yet.

Through her wine fog, she remembered one horrible idea. He better not include our little thing in the linen closet in his book. Utter mortification rushed through her, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

The creep knows how to write? Pamela smiled and batted her eyelashes. Forget about him, what little thing in the linen closet? Not the episode with Dr. Roving Hands today?

Cassie blew out a loud exhale. No, it was at the Christmas Party last year. I was too embarrassed to tell anybody. It’s the kind of thing you learn in nursing school never to do in patient areas, and there I was, full of champagne, half-undressed in the linen closet with Brett.

Pamela nodded, a look of enjoyment on her face. Okay, so you slipped. You’re only human. Her eyes lit up. What is this thing you have about linen closets and how far did you go with Brett?

Cassie swallowed when a mouthful of sour wine tried to force its way up her throat. I can’t talk about this. Not now.

Why not? If you can’t talk to your best friend about it, then who?

I don’t know. A therapist? Cassie shook her head violently. No, not even to a therapist.

Come on. I told you about watching Dr. Daniels grope the dietician.

Yeah, but it wasn’t you doing it.

Pamela leaned closer and lifted her eyebrows. Then you did do it?

I’m not sure I want to think about him.

You don’t want to repeat the syndrome, do you?

Cassie cleared her throat. I don’t exactly think of it as a syndrome.

Of course, you don’t. I’m here to tell you, it is. There just isn’t a name for it yet.

"But he can recite Shakespeare, and he's the only man I know who actually liked Jane Eyre."

Dream on. Okay, so it's the Shakespeare Asshole Syndrome. Pamela shook her head. You are such a romantic. The front doorbell rang. Forgot to tell you I ordered Chinese.

Cassie handed her friend a couple of bills and walked her to the door. I’m not that hungry, but I’ll take another glass of wine.

Pamela paid the delivery girl and led Cassie back to the couch.

You’ve had enough to drink, darlin’. You don’t want a headache, the shakes, and red eyes tomorrow for your interview, do you? She picked up the wine and re-corked the bottle.

The interview! Why would a potential boss want a total wreck like her on his staff?

They sat on her couch and ate two boxes of Buddha’s Delight, and another of fried rice.

Pamela made jasmine tea and they talked about work until the conversation wound back to Brett.

So, are you ready to tell me about what happened in the linen closet? Did you do it?

Close, but no orgasm. At least he didn’t have one, but I might have.

Might have? You either did or you didn't. Pamela opened her eyes wide and grinned. Come on, ‘fess up.

Okay, I did.

You are bad. How did you manage that?

Cassie started to chuckle, even though her face burned with embarrassment. Something I learned in high school. It's a rubbing thing.

Rubbing thing? Rubbing what?

Cassie stood and started pacing around the room. Geez, do I have to spell it out? It’s so embarrassing.

Couldn’t be more embarrassing than doing it. Especially in the hospital. I mean, think about it. You actually have somebody else inside you. Somebody who may have been inside countless other…

For crying out loud! I had a lot of champagne, which always turns me on.

Just tell me a little bit.

Oh, all right, but you have to swear you’ll never tell anyone else.

Pamela held up her right hand. I swear. I will never reveal the secrets of rubbing in the linen closet to anyone.

Ever.

Pamela frowned. Ever.

Cassie took a deep breath. Okay, here it is. When I started dating, my mother warned me all the time about getting pregnant and told me never to let a guy in my pants. One night, I was out with Tommy. We were lying in the back seat of his car, listening to music and kissing.

Yeah, yeah, and?

You're going to make me tell this whole thing.

You bet. Come on. Confession is good for the soul.

Cassie took a deep breath. He had this gigantic erection. I could see it through his jeans and that just made me want to know what it felt like. So, I started rubbing against him and it just felt better and better between my legs the more I rubbed. Actually, it felt better all over. I didn’t even know what it was the first time…just a whole lot of pleasure and a great big release.

Rubbing, hmm. And with your clothes on. Too bad I didn’t think of that. What a great way to get satisfied without getting pregnant or getting any of those nasty social diseases. So, did you do it more than once?

All the time, once I figured out what happened. I thought it was okay because I followed my mother’s orders, and never let anyone in my pants.

Smart girl.

So, now can you see why I don’t want Brett to write about rubbing in the linen closet with him at the Christmas party?

Not really. Some women might really want to know about this wonderful finding of yours. I know I do.

It’s like revealing my deepest, darkest secret to the whole world. I mean probably every other woman in the world is doing it nude. What the heck am I going to do if Brett writes about it in his book?

I don’t know, but a lot of women would love to have had at least one orgasm. I can't tell you how many of my friends fake it. Most guys are in such a hurry to pump, they don't even think about foreplay. Not that they'd know how to please a woman even if they did, but don't worry, you’ll figure out something. But why the linen closet?

Cassie took a deep breath to clear out the embarrassing feelings skittering around inside her. I’d never done anything unprofessional like that before, I mean what if a patient saw us go in there? But it was the staff Christmas party, and Brett came by, and said he wanted to tell me something really important.

Cassie stopped pacing and picked up a picture of her and Tommy that sat on the credenza. You remember, last year. Everybody was so noisy and plastered after somebody spiked the punch. I couldn’t even hear what he was saying.

So, you decided the linen closet was the quietest, most private place on the unit.

Exactly. Cassie settled back onto the couch and set Tommy's picture on the coffee table. We started kissing and rubbing and someone knocked on the door and said they needed two sheets and a couple of towels. That kind of destroyed the moment, well, not really, I’d already finished.

Pamela clapped and let out a loud laugh. Good for you. Let a man be frustrated for a while. Maybe that's why he left you. Maybe Lola just let him do whatever he wanted and she fakes her orgasms too.

Cassie felt a half-smile tugging at her lips as she considered her friend's conclusion. Geez, I would have never thought of something like that.

Pamela grabbed a peppermint candy out of the bowl on the table. Maybe you should. Listen, relationships are supposed to be partnerships, not all for one and none for the other. So, what great, important thing did he have to tell you?

Who knows? I thought he was going to ask me to marry him, but he never did. Hot tears collected behind Cassie’s eyes, and she blew her nose into a tissue.

Pamela shook her head and unwrapped the candy. What a jerk.

I guess. Cassie stared at her fortune cookie message. You will meet an old love.

Pamela shrieked and grabbed the tiny piece of fortune out of her friend’s hands. It’s Tommy. You’re going to meet him again. Maybe in the linen closet.

Don’t be so silly. She pictured the two of them together, happy. I don’t even know where he is. He went into the Army and disappeared. On some kind of secret Special Forces assignment, according to his mother. Even she didn't know where he was. Cassie pictured his dreamy face and muscular body. After he re-upped, and I heard he got engaged, I gave up trying to connect with him.

Maybe it didn't work out with his fiancée. You could hire a private investigator and find him.

Using what for money? I can’t even pay my rent. Besides, he’s got to be married by now. Probably with two kids. She stared out the window wistfully. He always said he wanted a lot of kids.

Call his mother. She can tell you.

I’m embarrassed to call her after all this time. Besides, I don’t think she liked me anyway.

Who wouldn’t like you?

Cassie sighed. Maybe it was more she thought we were too young to be serious.

Pamela shrugged in her direction. Yeah, but now you're older, more mature. Call her. She might surprise you.

Cassie didn’t answer. She was busy thinking about the last letter Tommy wrote her. She'd read it so often, the words had etched into her brain.

Dear Hon,

I’m in bed writing. I dreamed about you last night. I dreamed we were

married and I was so happy. I really think I could be, too.

I wish I was with you again tonight. All I have is your picture and that

won’t even look back at me. It just keeps staring at the floor and

smiling.

Wish I could kiss you good night, but I can’t. Time to start counting

days again. Only 19 to go.

Tommy

Then, as if he’d rethought his ending, he’d printed I love you, above his name.

Cassie mentally folded the letter and put it back into the creased envelope in her mind. Could she ever find him again? Should she even try?

Chapter 2

After Pamela left, Cassie sat on the couch and sipped more wine. She propped herself up with a pillow and flipped on the remote.

Dr. Jessica, The Relationship Doctor, came onto the TV screen. She wore expensive clothes and jewelry and made good use of makeup and hairstyling. She smiled at the camera, showing off teeth any orthodontist would applaud.

Good evening, viewers. Tonight, we have a special treat for you. I’ve been interviewing guys on the street all day, and I’m bringing you the best of the lot. Most of the guys I talked to about the perfect relationship wanted to drink more beer and find a woman with the biggest breasts. But one man impressed me. Hey, I’m getting misty just thinking about him. He refused to give us his full name, but his first name is Tom, and you’ll see in just a minute what a dream catch this guy is.

Tom? Cassie jolted forward and stared at the screen, thinking this had to be a coincidence.

Dr. Jessica looked straight into the camera. I’m going to show you my interview right now and you be the judge of whether this guy would be your idea of the perfect mate.

Excitement soaring inside her, Cassie propped herself up with another pillow and waited.

The image of Dr. Jessica faded and a picture of the relationship expert holding a microphone and standing next to a guy who looked like an older version of Tommy appeared. Only a hint of freckles across his nose, and his hair now in a fashionable cut, he had exchanged the jeans and T-shirt he always wore for an expensive suit.

Heart pounding, Cassie moved closer to the screen. She saw the dimples she adored, the deep blue eyes, the sandy-colored hair. Was that gold dust sprinkled around him or just the TV lights that made him glow?

No question. He was her Tommy.

Cassie turned up the volume and scooted down to the end of the bed to watch.

Dr. Jessica smiled into the camera. Tom, I wonder if you mind if I ask you a couple of questions.

He grinned at her, dimples in full action, blue eyes sparkling. Depends on what your questions are, but I’ll try to help.

So like Tommy. Cassie stood in front of the screen, studying the dimples in his cheeks, his deep blue eyes, the angular planes of his face, his muscular body, and whatever else she could study.

Okay, Tom. Here’s the question. What are the most important ingredients in a good relationship?

Be carefully, Tommy. She loves to trap people and make them look bad.

Tom smiled at Dr. Jessica, but sadness came into his eyes. I think I had it once, but I lost it. He looked into the camera and Cassie felt him speaking right to her. I should have never done that.

Dr. Jessica spoke into the microphone.What did you lose, Tom?

He cleared his throat. The first one is trust. A man and a woman have to be able to trust each other and talk to each other about everything. After that, they should have the same longings, and the same wishes and dreams.

Dr. Jessica gave him a sarcastic smile. So then, you don’t believe women should have their own dreams, their own achievements and careers?

Of course, they should, if they want to. They need to be apart and follow their own dreams, but they need to come together at the end of the day and make that connection again.

Dr. Jessica raised an eyebrow. And how do you make that connection?

By sharing something. It could be a beautiful sunset, the stars, walking hand and hand on the beach. Whatever it is, it has to give them both joy.

Dr. Jessica nodded. I see, long walks on a beach. Is that what you meant by longings, wishes and dreams?

Sort of. We all want happiness and love, don’t we? Those are the longings, wishes and dreams I meant. He spoke in a husky voice that made