“Thanks, Danny.”
“I mean it. You’re going to find someone who appreciates you.”
“Hopefully sooner than later,” I try to tease, but my voice falls flat and I sigh.
His smile is warm and his tone sure as he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. Miracles happen.”
I shake my head but I’m laughing as I give him a wave and tell him goodnight before heading through the lobby and down the hall to the elevator.
I skim the apartment numbers Danny wrote on the backs of the invitations, having to stop at the third floor to drop off two before moving to the fourth floor. The doors open to my floor and I slip two more invites under their prospective doors before I’m left with the last invitation in hand.
402.
I stand outside Luke’s door for a full minute, holding his invitation and trying to work up the nerve to simply slip it under his door, but some wild, unhinged part of me wants to knock, to make sure he gets it. To know if he’ll be there or not.
My pulse skitters in my chest. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? He’s probably not even home. It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, I’m sure a guy like him has somewhere better to be.
Just knock, Molly. It’s an invitation to a party, not a marriage proposal.
I rap gently on the door, clutching the heart so tightly I leave a crease in the construction paper. When no movement greets my ears, I sigh, then bend down to slip the invitation under the door so when he gets home, he’ll—
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Love is in the Air (And I Hate it)
Luke
Ipushthroughthefront door of my apartment building and stop dead.
Red streamers droop from the ceiling like bloody party favors. Pink paper hearts are taped to every available surface—the mailboxes, the bulletin board, even the fucking fire extinguisher. Cupids perch on the radiators like harbingers of romantic doom via fire hazard. And in the center of it all, a hand-painted banner that screamsHappy Valentine’s Day!in handwriting so aggressively cheerful, it should be illegal.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my work bag heavy in my hand and my jaw clenched so tight it crackles in my ears.
What the actual hell?
Tomorrow is February 14th. The one day of the year I try to avoid all human contact and any semblance ofromance, but apparently, the building has other plans.
“Evening, Luke.”
I turn to see Danny, my landlord, emerging from the rec room.
“What is all this?”
“The annual Valentine’s Day party is tomorrow at seven, right here. Didn’t you hear? Romance is in the air.” He chuckles with a wink.
Romance. Right. Because nothing says ‘romance’ like forced proximity and flimsy paper decorations.
“Great,” I deadpan, heading for the stairs. “Have fun with that.”
“Wait! Your invitation.”
I’m already taking the stairs two at a time—since he’s caught me one too many times waiting for the elevator at the end of the hall—but his voice follows me. “—for our single residents!”
Single. The word hits hard, and I grip the handrail tighter than necessary. Yeah, I’m single. By choice. Because the last time I wasn’tsingle, I came home on a certain dreaded holiday with roses in hand only to find my girlfriend in our bed with someone else.
But Danny doesn’t know that.
No oneneeds to know that.
