Page 33 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

I do not have high hopes.

Briefly, my mind flits to myelusive neighbor—if you can even call him that.

Horace.

He doesn’t technically live near me, justabovethe pizzeria. But it’s not like he’s ever around.

He came inonce—fixed our website like some kind oftech wizard—then vanished.

Hasn’t been back.

Hasn’t even sampled our pizza again, as far as I know. Of course, there is a corporate account that has the same last name, but that might be a coincidence.

I haven’t had the time to research it just yet.

Oh, Horace, why haven’t you come back?

The thought of what might’ve been makes something twist in my chest, but I shove it aside.

Why am I even thinking about him?

There is nomight’ve been.

I don’tknowhim.

I don’tthinkabout him.

I don’twonderwhere he is or why he reminds me of a teddy bear—wait, what?

I shake my head, trying to dislodgethatridiculous thought before it takes root.

Focus, Carina

Tonight is aboutHV1234.

Not mymysterious, broody, definitely-not-into-Pizza-Girlsupstairs neighbor.

I knock on wood, literally, and tell myself I’m not about to walk into something awful.

It’s just a date.

Just dinner.

What could go wrong?

Chapter12

Horace

Everything is going wrong.

First, I’mlategetting to the restaurant.

I hate that.

I am never late.

Something about my high-tech, easily bored, hyper-focused brain makes me despise tardiness in any way, shape, or form.

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