Page 19 of Sweet Caroline
“I mean, I guess? I dunno, man.”
“Ooh, I can bake a cake!” Olena calls out.
“Look, I’ll think about it, but later. I’m fucking starving.” I park outside my building and kill the engine.
“Alright, alright. Go eat before you get pissy. Just wanted to put the bug in your ear. And don’t worry, I won’t let Olena bake anything.”
I tilt my head. Food isn’t exactly her forté.
After we say our goodbyes and hang up, I grab my bag and head for the front door of my apartment building. I lunge past one of my neighbors on her way out, catching the lobby door with my boot before it shuts. Trying to reassure the frowning older woman, I wave my keys in the universal sign ofdon’t worry, I live hereand make for the elevator. Since I leave so early for the gym each morning, I’m sure half my neighbors have barely laid eyes on me over the last ten months.
The clunking whir of the old elevator barely registers as I ride up to the fourth floor; I’m too engrossed in staring at that picture of me and Caroline to notice much else.
The timing of the photo—the placement of my hand, how I’d stepped in close to fix her bag—made it look like there was more between us. Though therehadbeen something there. An intangible draw. Attraction, I guess. I shake my head, remembering how I’d fallen all over myself to help her out. I’d tied her shoe, for fuck’s sake, like I was goddamn hypnotized.
I push inside my apartment and chuck my things onto the chair near the door, then duck into the tiny galley kitchen to throw a container of leftover pad thai in the microwave, like I can sense this new development in my life is gonna require brain fuel. But my willpower doesn’t last long, because I’m only halfway through unlacing one steel-toed boot before I’m dropping into the nearest kitchen chair and flicking open my laptop with my free hand. I’m still typing her name in the search bar when my phone pings, pulling my eyes from one screen to the other.
Gus
Never thought you of all people would be anyone’s “mystery beau”
Pretty fucking fancy, buddy
Me
Fucking hell. How’d you see this shit already?
Gus
My mom sent it to me.
This fucking town.I find the blog post right away and open the article.
Gus
Gotta say, calling your ass “elite” is fucking hilarious
Girl in the photo though… damn. *whistles*
Me
Ok well laugh it up. It’s all just a stupid misunderstanding.
Gus
Tell that to the way she’s looking at you
I zoom in on the photo again.
He’s right. There’s something in her eyes. I’d seen it—felt it—that morning. And I know I wasn’t imagining things. Call it an ADHD sixth sense, but I’ve always been able to read people well.
I try to let it go. It doesn’t matter if there’d been a fleeting attraction between us. Or if some gossip blogger thinks we’re together after one misleading picture. I couldn’t give two shits about what some local rag says, anyway. The rumor will probably be a distant memory by tomorrow.
By late morning,it’s become clear Ican’tshake this rumor thing.
Despite my best efforts to brush it off, that photo of me and Caroline kept me up last night, and something about it was still humming away in the back of my head when I woke up. Working out hadn’t shifted it, and my distraction level on the job site this morning was becoming a liability. I fumbled my hammer at least twice and praised the inventor of steel-toed boots when I nearly bit it tripping over a pile of rebar. Thankfully, Dave didn’t witness any of this, but some of the guys gave me shit. I played it off like I missed my morning coffee, but, the truth is, my brain has been MIA all morning.
When I’d found her profile on the gallery’s website last night and I realized she worked across the street from me, it felt like the universe was handing me a big, blinking invitation to go talk toher. I figured this weird rumor warranted a conversation, at the very least.
