“Yes. Us working together. Crazy concept, I know.”
“Radical.”
“Revolutionary, even.”
Our gazes tangle together for a brief moment. But maybe this is for the best. After all, I’m in a bet with my coworkers. I pull myself away with the reminder that professional isn’t spelled C-R-U-S-H. But I can’t shake the craving for cake.
At the endof the week, I’m reviewing my schedule and upcoming tasks before heading home. The office acrossthe hall is empty, dark. Turning back to my notebook, in my own handwriting, I look over the emoji-like codes I doodled with a tick mark system I devised, designating my interactions with Patton since my colleagues issued the bet:
Talk: ||| Laugh: || Smile: Still zero on the last one while in the workplace.
An unpleasant, vacuous feeling hollows me out inside, emptying my lungs, knotting my stomach, leaving me boneless, without a spine. This is calculating, cold. Like I’m collecting data rather than building a relationship. Turns out Patton isn’t a robot after all.
In a way, my ex kept track of my reactions, manipulated situations, and used information to get what he wanted. Am I any better?
I care about Patton, but I also have an ulterior motive. What if he finds out? Actually, if there’s any hope of us not decimating this brand new building, never mind doing things like not-dates together, I must end the bet, never mind the money, because he has to know the truth. But how do I tell him? I can already see it going wildly wrong and we’ll be right back where we started, hating each other.
Before I go home, I swing by the old library to find some decorations for the Fire & Ice Fest that are in storage. Peony is behind the information desk, typing rapidly on the computer. Except for the clicking of the keyboard, the building is quiet, a bit creepy.
After we exchange greetings and I offer an explanation for my visit, other than to say hello, I ask, “Do you get nervous in here alone?”
She looks around. “Because of all the book thieves running roughshod around town?”
“More like ghosts.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Don’t go listening to Silver Sam. Plus, I think it’s kind of romantic in here.”
“Does James agree?”
She doesn’t answer and leads me to the storage room downstairs, flipping on overhead tube lights as we walk along a narrow hall.
“Silver Sam says the old firehouse is haunted,” I mention, shifting away from discussion of her relationship.
She laughs as she opens a creaky door. “Silver Sam is full of his special cider.”
“Probably. But this room does feel spooky.”
Peony starts opening boxes. “Nonsense. Fire & Ice decorations should be somewhere in here.”
We poke around, pulling out various items—red and blue tablecloths, silver stars, and fake icicles.
When we find the library’s recently used Valentine’s décor, Peony says, “You and Patton seem friendly lately.”
“We’re planning an event together. We have to be civil.”
“Civil. Right. Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
I stop digging through boxes. “Peony—” I start.
She cuts me off. “Winnie, you have a look.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Maybe you have a teeny-tiny crush.” She pinches her fingers together. “Or maybe a Crush Cakes-sized crush?”
Despite the ridiculous comment, I laugh. “That’s terrible.”
“But accurate.”
