Page 54 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Ha!

My thumbs hover uselessly over the keyboard. There isnocoming back from this.

Luca: Ghost in your vagina!? Are you haunted???

Poppy: Your thumbs are the problem—not me. I’ve been saying this for YEARS.

I press my fingers to my temples, willing the earth to open up and swallow me whole—or at the very least, send a Target truck to run over my phone.

I contemplate throwing it out my car window.

“Haunted?” I say out loud to no one. “Yes. Yes, I am. Emotionally, physically, spiritually—and now digitally.”

Me: I am going to throttle you. You are NOT helpful.

Poppy: What are you going to throttle me with? Your Victorian girlboss coochie?

Luca: So 3:30? Should I bring sage?

Me: Ha ha, probably… but I’m sure we can find it by the spices. See you in a bit.

11

luca

I’m early… again.

Not like wildly early—but early enough to overthink what kind of grocery cart sends the right message to a woman I’m trying to impress.

Full-size cart? Too committed. Too eager.

Hands only? Psychopath.

Basket?Effortless.

I station myself in aisle seven by the beans, obviously, because where else would I be? Not to mention, for funsies I’ve already arranged the Bush’s cans in a little pyramid; I am a grown man with zero chill and a decent sense of humor.

Also? I kind of want her to laugh when she finds me.

I check my phone.

No new texts.

I’ve scrolled up through our messages three times now. Not because I’m obsessed—duh. No. I keep scrolling because I can’t get the “You did NOT tell me you fucked that guy! God I am so jealous—I wasn’t joking when I said there was a ghost in my vagina,”out of my brain.

Nova is chaos. Beautiful, sexy chaos.

I lean against the shelf, subtly rearranging the chickpeas andkidney beans one more time like I work here, as if that will steady my nerves as an elderly woman turns into the aisle. She gives me the kind of side-eye typically reserved for men who loiter too close to the item she needs.

Not that I blame her. And not to brag, but have I mentioned I’m massive?

“Afternoon, ma’am,” I say as if I’m totally normal, my grin broadcasting,Not a creep!

She nods suspiciously and pushes her cart past me, clutching the handles of her cart to steady herself, whizzing past as quickly as her little legs can carry her. If I saw me in this aisle, I’d pivot too. There’s only so much a smile can do when you’re 6’3 and built for hockey.

I go back to rearranging the shelves. Slight tilt to the left for symmetry. Bush’s Best in the center—premium bean energy. I’m mid-adjustment when I feel it.

Like a sixth sense.

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