Page 13 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

My debut novel was a bestseller. My second was a flop. How am I supposed to follow that up? The only thing worse than people expecting great things is knowing that peopleno longerexpect great things, because you’ve already proved them wrong.

I set my phone aside and then fold my arms across my chest, letting my eyes flutter closed. I have an alarm set; I’ll wake Heidi to check on her in two hours.

But my eyes open after a few seconds, against my will, and try as I might, I can’t get them to close again.

I guess I’ll spend this night memorizing the texture of the paint on Heidi’s ceiling, and I’ll try not to think about how badly I wish the two of us were staring at the paint on my ceiling instead.

* * *

To absolutely nobody’s surprise,Heidi does not take kindly to being woken up every two hours. She swats my hand away when I shake her awake at five-thirty, grumbling about my man bun; she does the same at seven-forty. My hair is one of her favorite things to gripe about, her go-to complaint, and this time I let it slide. I make sure the blinds are closed as tightly as possible, but it doesn’t stop the muted sunlight from filtering in. By eight-thirty, she’s up and moving around, despite my protests that she should rest and open the shop a bit later today.

“I have things to do. I can’t rest,” she says as she shuffles around the kitchen. Then she stops and gives me a critical look. “You should, though. You look like you got run over.”

“Such a sweet woman,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

She shrugs as her lips twitch. “No one ever called mesweet.”

That’s true enough. “I’ll go home in a bit.”

“Shave before you come back,” she says.

I don’t make her a promise I know I’m not going to keep. I watch her lean down and open the refrigerator instead. She’s dressed in her usual attire—jeans and a soft-looking t-shirt. Sometimes she wears denim shorts, and sometimes it’s jeans that hit just above her ankles—cropped? Is that what those pants are called?—but it’s almost always jeans of some sort.

It might be pathetic that I know this about her. But I’m observant; it’s part of my nature. And…well, she’s Heidi.

I do what I can to help as Heidi bustles around getting ready for the day, but she mostly swats me away whenever I approach. Surprisingly, not once does she tell me to leave; I was expecting it the second she woke up. When she’s finally ready to go downstairs, she looks at me over her shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she says, and I nod.

We both make our way into the cramped stairwell, and Heidi locks the door behind her. I keep a close eye on her as we descend, but she seems fine.

The second we emerge from the stairwell, though, we come face-to-face with Gemma. It’s clear she’s just arrived; her keys are still in her hand, and she’s halfway through pulling off her jacket.

“What happened to you?” she says immediately. She gestures to Heidi’s forehead bandage, looking concerned.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I bumped it,” Heidi says.

“Are you okay?” Gemma says as she tucks her jacket under her arm.

“I’m fine,” Heidi says, waving away the question.

I snort but don’t say anything. She’s playing it awfully cool for someone who has no memory of the past twenty-four hours.

Gemma shrugs. “Okay. So…” But she trails off as she seems to realize what’s going on—that Heidi and I have both emerged from the stairwell, relatively early in the morning. Her dark eyes widen, and the three of us stand in silence, looking at each other, for probably five seconds.

“Ah,” Gemma says finally, tucking a few strands of dark hair behind her ear. She looks back and forth between the two of us, and a smile unfurls on her face. She points first at Heidi, then at me, and then at Heidi again.

“Did you…?”

“No,” Heidi says quickly.

“Are you—”

“No,” Heidi says again.

“Because you know I’ve always thought—”

“Gemma,” Heidi cuts her off, her voice loud, her eyes darting quickly to me and then away again.

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