Page 110 of Hate You Later
“Anyone seen a five-foot-two fairy?” I joke.
Silence. Then a bit of confused murmuring. She isn’t here. At least, she isn’t inside the building. Outside on the street, I think I catch a flash of iridescent green. Was that just my imagination playing tricks on me?
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say, racing down the steps and toward the door. By the time I get out to the street, however, she is gone. There’s no sign of her.
Tap, tap, tap. In my absence, someone is putting a finger to the microphone. “Speaking of soul mates …” Walker is talking into the microphone. “I wonder if you’ll all let me hog the mic for a moment for a little personal business. I’m Walker Holm, and this here building was my family’s warehouse once upon a time. I remember flying paper airplanes in here when I was a kid. I spent so much time here with my dad that sometimes I felt like I lived here. And now I do! I’ve purchased one of the lofts in this building and can’t wait to meet my neighbors. And there’s one neighbor in particular I can’t wait to see, hopefully each and every morning. Ashley?”
Walker is attempting to get on one knee when Xander grabs me.
“Come on,” he says. “Looks like she’s on her way back to the store.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I made her share locations with me when she got the new phone. She may be my big sister and a black belt, but I’m still bigger and badder, and when push comes to shove, I can hit harder,” he says. And then he raises an eyebrow at me, as if I need reminding about our earlier conversation.
“I’m parked in.” I run my fingers through my hair in frustration.
“We can take the van. I parked around the corner,” Xander says. “I’ll just tell Mac I’m leaving for a bit.”
“Let me grab something from upstairs?”
“Okay, meet you out front,” Xander says.
I dash up to my loft. On my way in, I notice Oliver’s tiny Viking helmet sitting by my door. There it is! I was wondering where it was. How did it ever get out here? I set it down on the dining room table in the loft and throw my supplies in a paper bag.
Oliver, who has been watching people coming and going all night from the window, jumps on the table to sniff the hat. He flicks his tail.
Impulsively, I grab the helmet, pop it on him, and snap a close up photo of him in it. He doesn’t even have a chance to protest before I pet and praise him lavishly.
“Wish me luck, Oliver!” I say. “I promise I’ll be back.”
He meows reassuringly at me.
I’m pretty sure he is, in fact, saying “Good luck.”
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It’s aroundfour miles back to the store, where my car is parked, but that doesn’t deter me. The night is cool and clear, and it feels great to stretch my legs. My heart is pounding and my wings are flapping. Cookie trots alongside me.
“What was I thinking, Cookie?” I ask her.
It was just temporary insanity induced by our mutual lust. But in the end, that’s all it was. Animal attraction. If it was more than that, he wouldn’t be proposing to Ashley. Possibly right at this very moment. He was proposing and they would be leaving town, and that would be the end of it.
For a horrified moment, I consider that they might not leave town. They might settle in the lofts and I might have to see them all the time, strolling through Holm Square in matching cashmere tennis sweaters. I feel like hurling. I feel like punching something. I wish I had an ax to throw.
My phone dings with a notification from the event’s hashtag stream. It’s a photo of a woman’s hand with a massive rock on it and the caption: “She said yes!”
Motherfucker. I knew it! I pick up the pace, blinking back the tears.
Was I just jealousy bait? Had he been using me as part of a ploy to win Ashley?
My phone dings again and I check it. It’s a message from Xander.
“Where are you?”
“Needed some air. Heading home. Carry on without me,” I say. And why shouldn’t they? The event’s been handled, the evening is a success, and nobody needs me there—for anything. Turns out I’m not so indispensable after all.
“Heading home? On foot? You sure you’re okay?”
