Sitting up, I reach instinctively for my phone, but then remember there won’t be a text from Veronica there. Instead,I roll the dice and open Instagram, knowing there’s a good chance I’ll see some flat earth content that will tank my mood further.
But instead, I see a follow request.
From Veronica Cochran.
Chapter Eleven
Veronica
I’m halfway through my second viewing ofPride & Prejudice(2005) when there’s a sharp knock at my door.
Pushing up from the couch onto an elbow, I frown in the direction of the sound, wondering who the hell thinks one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon is a good time to stop by unannounced. This is prime nap time. What if I were napping?
Standing, I kick an empty cracker box out of my way and shuffle to the door, stretching to look through the peephole.
Holy shit.
I jump back, spinning in a helpless circle.
“Veronica?” Jude asks on the other side of the door.
“Hey, yeah, hey.” I dig my fingers into my hair, trying to comb it into something less like a staticky bird’s nest. “What’s up?”
“Can you let me in?”
Let him in? What for? To him, we’re strangers!
But there’s something in his tone that makes me suspicious. I grab my phone from the entryway table and look at my notifications. Sure enough, there’s one there.
@jtildeChi has accepted your follow request.
Fuck. I forgot to cancel it.
“I’m—” I cough loudly. “Super sick.”
“Bullshit.”
I go still, staring at the door. “What?”
“I said, bullshit. Come on. Open the door. We need to talk.”
I look down at my body. I’m wearing enormous grizzly paw slippers, worn plaid flannel pajama pants, and a T-shirt that saysCurrent mood: snackswith a chocolate ice cream stain on it from about twenty minutes ago. “I’m, uh, not really looking my best.”
“I honestly don’t care.”
“I do,” I say.
“Then I’ll close my eyes.”
“I bet you’ll peek.”
I hear him laugh on the other side of the door. “Do you want me to wear a blindfold?”
“Would you?”
A brief pause and then: “If it means I can come in and talk to you, yes.”
“Let me grab a scarf.”
