I reach the fourth floor and gather my keys, more than ready to get inside where the decorations and toxic claim of ‘romance in the air’ can’t follow me.
That’s when I see her.
Molly from 401 is crouched in front of my door, sliding something underneath it. She’s wearing a bright purple sweater that somehow makes everything around her seem brighter. Her blonde hair falls carelessly out of its ponytail in a way that should be messy but just looks…soft. She’s even smaller,crouched how she is—she’s already petite, barely reaching my shoulder when standing.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She jumps, flopping to her side. Her head snaps in my direction with wide, blue eyes and guilt written all over her face. A red paper heart flutters to the ground between us.
“O-Oh, Luke, hi. I was just, um… Danny asked me to deliver these.” She scrambles to her feet, gathering the fallen heart and brushing off her jeans. “Invitations for tomorrow night.”
I stare at the heart on the floor with Danny’s cheerful handwriting:Love Awaits You!
Something dark and bitter rises in my chest. Love awaitsme? Sure, it does. Right next to disappointment and betrayal and all the other bullshit that comes with letting people too close.
At my silence, her cheeks flush. “I was just putting it under your door. Danny thought—”
“Danny thought wrong.” I bend down and grab the paper heart, crumpling it in my fist. “I’m not interested.”
“It’s just a party,” she says quietly. “There’s going to be food and—”
“I said no.”
“But—”
“What part of ‘no’ is confusing to you?” My words are harsh, but I can’t seem to stop them. There’s something about this day, this building full of romantic bullshit, this sweet girl trying to drag me into some matchmaking scheme that makes me want to lash out. “I don’t do parties. I don’t do Valentine’s Day. And I sure as hell don’t need some amateur cupid shoving invitations under my door.”
Her face goes pale, and I see the exact moment my words hit their mark.
Good. Maybe now she’ll leave me alone.
“You’re absolutely right,” she says, her voice steady despite the hurt in her eyes. “You clearly don’t need any help in the asshole department. You’ve got that covered all by yourself.”
The comeback catches me off guard, and for a split second I almost smile.Almost. But then she’s walking away with quick steps to her door across the hall, and I’m left standing here with a crumpled invitation and the uncomfortable feeling that I just kicked a puppy.
Something sweet lingers in the air—vanilla and sugar, like she walked straight out of a bakery. And I hate that I notice, or that I find myself inhaling a little deeper when it clings to the hallway even after her door clicks shut.
I shake off the feeling and unlock my door, then step inside. I toss the paper heart toward the trash. It misses and lands on the floor.Son of a bitch. My apartment is blessedly romance-free, all neutral colors and clean lines with no evidence that it’s nearing the worst day of the year.
This is what I want. Silence. Solitude.
No hearts or cupids or well-meaning neighbors trying to fix my life.
So why do I feel like such a complete bastard?
I grab a beer from the fridge, throw a frozen dinner in the microwave, and turn the hockey game on. The commentators’ voices fill the apartment, drowning out the silence that tends to get too loud if I let it.
My phone buzzes on the counter. My brother’s name lights up the screen.
Jake:Still on for tomorrow?
I take a long pull from my beer before responding.
Me:Yeah.
Jake:You sure? Because last year you bailed and I found you drunk in your apartment watching Die Hard.
Me:And?
