Page 56 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
I wait, though when he doesn’t say anything else, I nudge him with a gentle “But?”
He inches up a shaky, uncertain shrug as he pockets his phone.
“I was finally wrapping up a few things so I wasn’t working all the time,” he says. “If I go after this, it means more work, not less, at least until the position’s filled. I’ve been carefully building my portfolio since I heard this might become a possibility, but competition will be stiff, even within the company. I’m terrible at interviews and I’m not sure I have enough range.” He goes quiet while running through his usual roster of fidgets: shifting his stance, nudging his glasses up his nose, scratching his neck, adjusting his scarf. Even if I couldn’t read his body language by now, I know what self-doubt feels like. Down to my bones.
I step forward and take his hand. “If you want it, you should go for it. Right, Aggie?”
She steps forward, too, nudging our linked hands with her cold, wet nose.
Everett smiles a little, just a twitch at the corners of his lips, but it’s something.
“Is this her way of saying yes?” he asks.
“It’s her way of saying she believes in you,” I tell him. “And maybe that she knows a few things about setting hard goals, and how trying to reach them is worth the effort, even when you fall down a lot while attempting to stand up. Or need more than twenty breaks to walk a mile.”
Everett’s brows rise with surprise. “Does she give you this pep talk, too, because...”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I draw him into a hug before he can tease me further. His teasing’s well-earned but this moment’s not about me. “We’re here for whatever you need. And if you won’t have much time to spare for a while, we’ll just make the most of the time we do have.”
He relaxes into my embrace, and as his arms come around me, the words that’ve been dancing around in my mind more and more often in recent days almost slip out. But his mind is miles away right now, lost in portfolio planning and interview strategies, so the words can wait. The feeling’s there, and I’ll do my damnedest to make sure he knows that every step of the way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
You’re amazing!” the robo-ball says as Aggie chases it down the sixth-floor hallway on a cold, wet Saturday afternoon in early March, after a cold, wet walk we cut short so we could play inside instead.
“Wow,” Khalil says as he watches with me. “We could almost call that a jog.”
“Almost?” I scoff with mock indignation. “That isdefinitelya jog.”
He nods his agreement while Aggie catches up to the ball, grabs it, drops it, and follows it again as it zigzags in our direction. Okay,jogis a stretch, but not a big one. Aggie’s pace is more than a walk or a trot. A month of hydrotherapy has been really good for her. She can walk four full minutes on the water treadmill before resting now. She’s lost eight more pounds. Her once scabby, bald tail is covered in hair. The hair’s still growing in, so her tail doesn’t yet look like a normal retriever tail, but it does look like a dog tail, no longer a constant sign of her neglect.
“My prof is really excited about how well the ball’s working,” Khalil says. “We’re putting together a grant application to expandon what we’ve learned with it. See if we can’t modify it for kids with mobility issues, combining game play with adaptive movement.”
“You’re amazing!” the ball says as it rolls toward us.
“The ball beat me to it,” I say. “Youareamazing.”
Khalil waves off my praise, like always, but I swear he’s standing taller, which is saying something because he’s pretty tall to begin with. Tall, kind, and genius-level brilliant.
It never ceases to astonish me that I live near such cool people, and I’m so glad we all finally talked to each other last fall. Well, almost all of us, but maybe one day Phone Girl will come around. Even if she is a vampire, she’ll have to feed at some point.
“Can we show off your work to Aggie’s fan club?” I ask Khalil.
He flushes but he smiles as he reddens. “Um, I guess, okay?”
I smile back, eager for the world to witness his genius. “Yay! Thank you!”
I grab my phone and film Aggie chasing the ball. Then Khalil talks through the key features, geeking out about actuators, feedback loops, and proximity sensors while standing in our hallway in black and gray high-tech winter cycling clothes that hug his body like a superhero costume. I don’t fuss with the video editing, obsess about the caption or hashtags, or ensure the music is trending. With three more sponsored TikToks on the account now, all of which Everett insisted on producing to his carefully branded and highly curated professional standards, I’m ready to post something amateur. Just a dog, a ball, and a humanitarian robotics nerd.
Ten minutes later, as we continue playing ball with Aggie while joking about how the Cornell Alumni Society is already asking us for donations, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
HANNAH:Saw your new TikTok. Was that your next-door neighbor?
CAMERON:Yeah. Khalil. Previously known as Cycle Guy. Why?
HANNAH:Seriously, Cam?!?! You have at least LOOKED at those legs, right?
I swallow a laugh and force myself to keep my eyes on my screen while Khalil plays with Aggie. I should’ve seen this coming. I know Hannah’s type. Tall, dark, and handsome. Muscular. Chiseled features. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a high-achieving endurance athlete, just like her.
