Page 12 of Off the Wall

“A little on the nose, right?”

“I take it back. There’s no bright side to this situation.”

“Thank you. Now,that’shelpful.”

Hayden flashes me a crooked grin. “I should be home by the time you’re done with work tomorrow. We can perform a Dr. McMuffin cleansing ceremony.”

“Deal,” I say. “Do you mind if Keeley gets in on that action?”

“Yes! I mean, no, I don’t mind. I love Keeley. Definitely invite her. For now, though, go do something to restore your faith in romance.”

“I think I’m going to binge-watchThe Twilight Saga,unironically.”

Hayden puts a hand to her chest and fakes a gasp. “Without me?”

“Just this once. But I promise to save you some ice cream.”

I end our FaceTime and change into a pair of yoga pants, an old tank top, and an off the shoulder sweatshirt. I’m in the bathroom wrangling my hair into a messy bun when something flickers in the mirror. I blink twice, but there’s still a glimmer in the reflection, almost as if a hand is threading through mine.

A large hand with long, thick fingers, and ropy veins climbing up the wrist.

What on earth was in that escargot?

I flip the light off and on again, and the glimmer begins to morph into the sheer outline of a man, beginning with a smile, then slowly expanding until the vision is complete. Kind of like the Cheshire Cat inAlice in Wonderland. Except this is the handsomest, hottest cat I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Cheshire Cash is in my bathroom mirror.

I let out a gasp.

Then he’s gone.

Chapter Four

Cash

When my brother,Cullen, and I were teenagers—see also: young and dumb—we used to call Thursday nights Friday Eve. That’s because we were always up for a good time. Life stretched ahead of us like one long optimistic set of priorities: Baseball. Girls. School.

Pretty much in that order.

Of course, Cullen would swear he’s much happier, settled down now and married to the love of his life, Lauren. He’s got a thirty-year mortgage, a 401K, and a brand-new baby coming next month. As for me, I haven’t had a serious relationship since my broken engagement, I rent a one-bedroom apartment, and my current Friday Eves consist of doing laundry in the basement.

But hey. At least my job’s going well. Which is exactly why my lack of love life doesn’t matter.

Tossing my full basket of clothes into the washer, I load up the detergent dispenser, and set the temperature to hot.

I’ve got thirty minutes to kill before switching my stuff to the dryer, so instead of heading back upstairs—to my very empty place—I drop into a rickety folding chair to text Jason.

I need to update him on my work week, but it’s too loud in here to call. Then maybe I’ll text Cullen to make some plans that bear little resemblance to our Friday Eves of the past.

Plans like going to the gym on Saturday.

The Briggs brothers.

Just living the dream.

Me

Hey, Jason. Not sure if you’ve seen the latest POs I sent over, but Dr. Hanson’s already used our stuff for three cases at Springs Memorial this week, and I’m making inroads with Dr. Arnold there, too.

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