1
EMILY
Will you be my Valentine?
It's me, your neighbor from 3B.
You can actually say no. If you do, I'll simply cry in my apartment quietly and deal with it like a grown woman, or move to another country. I honestly haven't thought that far ahead.
No pressure, I promise.
I lower the card, my face burning hotter than the "Mr. Darcy's Sweat" candle flickering on my coffee table. Selena's sprawled on my couch, legs crossed, wineglass dangling between manicured fingers.
Everything about her is perfect. The blonde hair. The makeup. She's the type every guy wants to be with and every girl aspires to be like. An absolute stunner.
"Keep going." Her lips curve into a smile. "You've barely gotten to the good part."
"I think that's enough of a dramatic reading." I set the card down and reach for my own wine. The rosé is too sweet, coating my tongue like liquid candy. Selena brought it—"on sale," she said, which meant it was probably still more than I'd spend on wine.
"Don't chicken out now." She leans forward and refills my glass before I can protest. "The whole point of girls' night is to be bold, remember? You've been obsessing over Mr. 3A for months."
"That's not true," I say, even as my eyes drift to the wall I share with Alex's apartment.
Ugh. Alex Kahn a.k.a Mr. 3A. I thought I was too old for crushes, but here we are.
Selena gives me the look. "Emily, you deeply inhale the air outside his door. Don't think I didn't notice."
My orange tabby, Croissant, jumps onto the windowsill, tail flicking as he stares judgmentally at us both. He always acts like I annoy him. Me, the one who spends half her salary in cat food, toys, and supplies. I once spent almost four hundred dollars for a custom-made tree, and he spent exactly five seconds on it and stared at me as though I smelled like a wet rag.
I swear the men in this building, including those of the feline variety, are grumpy.
"It's not that simple." I pull my knees to my chest and curl deeper into my recliner. "He's ... intimidating."
"That's the appeal," Selena says, stretching her arms overhead. Her silk top rides up, revealing a slice of toned stomach. Suddenly, the box of red velvet cookies in my fridge don't seem worth it anymore. "All that military discipline. Those arms. The broad shoulders. God, his face." She sighs dramatically. "If hehadn't helped you with groceries that day, I might never have noticed him."
She says it casually, like she's not reminding me that she saw him first. Like she's not implying she'd have better chances.
"It was just a couple of books," I say. "Not groceries."
"Whatever." She waves dismissively. "The point is, you need to stop hiding in this adorable little" —she glances around my studio— "cozy space, and actually talk to the man."
"I talk to him," I tell her, scratching Croissant behind the ears when he abandons the window to settle in my lap.
“A ‘good morning' while checking your mail twice isn't talking." She rolls her eyes. "Look at your place, Em. Look atyou."
I glance down at my soft curves wrapped in my favorite worn pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt with a faded flower shop logo. Not Dead Yet—the place I currently work at. "What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing! That's what I'm saying." Her voice softens, which somehow makes it worse. "You're cute … in that accessible, girl-next-door kind of way. Most men love that."
I take another sip of wine, bigger this time. The cheap alcohol buzzes through my system, not enough for major drunk decisions but just enough to make Selena's terrible ideas sound plausible.
"The Valentine's card was your idea, Selena."
“Because I know you'd never do it on your own." She picks up the half-finished card. "But this tame little note isn't going tocatch the attention of a man like that. You need to make an impression."
I wince. "I'm not exactly impressive."
"Stop that. Do you really want to spend Valentine's Day alone with" —Selena tilts her chin at Croissant— "Mr. Whiskers here? Because that's pretty sad, even for you."
