Page 13 of Maid For Each Other

“Absolutely I do,” I replied, noticing in the mirror that my smile was obnoxiously huge. “There’s also an unopened bag of Dove caramel squares behind the milk in the refrigerator—that would pair nicely with a Riesling, don’t you think?”

6

The Pickup

Declan

Do I knock?

I stood in front of the door—mydoor—and wasn’t sure what to do. Obviously I had a key, but was it impolite to the stranger who’d forced her way into my life to use it?

The rules of etiquette were unclear on how to arrive for a date that you’d been forced to arrange.

Screw it, I’m going in.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Abi?”

I said her name, fairly loudly, as I stepped inside.

“Abi, I’m here,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Are you ready to go?”

I’d been away in London for the past couple weeks, so the sight of my couch and TV made me instantly wish I could just change into shorts and play COD all night, or maybe destroy a plate of nachos in front of an old episode ofPsych.

Either option sounded fucking amazing.

But the tuxedo on my body said otherwise.

“Abi?”

Just as I thoughtwhere the hell is she?, I saw that the balcony door was open. I doubted she was out there, because it was raining, but she didn’t seem to be anywhere else, either, so I crossed the room, tension pounding in my temple as I wondered how the evening was going to play out. Abi seemed like she had the potential to be a real pain in the ass, although Johnny’s texts throughout the afternoon had given me a tiny bit of hope.

Johnny:Abi is cool as shit

Johnny:Abi looks great

Johnny:The girl is smart and knows the material—you’ve got nothing to worry about

“Abi?” I stepped through the doorway, onto the balcony, and there she was.

She was sitting at the teak table in a black rain jacket with a towel wrapped around her head, writing in a notebook under the patio umbrella that I rarely opened. Her bare feet were propped up on the chair across from her, and when I said her name again, she held up a finger without looking up and said, “Hang on for a quick sec.”

Oh-kay. I stood there, getting sprinkled on, unsure of what the hell I was waiting for while her hand scribbled words frantically. I’d expected her to be ready and waiting by the door, not dressed like a freshly showered flasher who was immersed in fucking gratitude journaling.

On my deck.

In the rain.

With her toes out.

Her behavior didn’t bode well for a calm, uneventful evening, damn it.

“What are you doing?” I asked, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “We—”

“Shhhh,” she said, her Bic flying over the paper. “I just don’t want to forget. One minute.”

My jaw hurt from how hard I was grinding my teeth together in an attempt not to sigh or curse as I waited.

“Okay,” she said, still writing. Her face was intense as she finished and muttered, “I…am…done.”

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