No. It’s random. Pure chance.
Given everything, though…
“Maybe you were right. Somehow our fortunes—our luck—flipped.” I shiver. “Maybe we should try to get struck by lightning to switch them back,” I joke.
Logan half laughs. “Maybe step on a live wire?”
“What if it was the cat? Toffee literally flipped the fortunes the first time. Then you brushed the ticket against him for good luck.”
“Like the static electricity did something?” he asks. “That’s impossible. Right?”
“I don’t really know what’s possible anymore,” I say, taking in the scene in front of me. “Thisis impossible, and yet we’re holding this comically large check.”
Gretchen has moved on to the fourth and final winner, a woman named Tiff from Westchester wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
A wild thought flashes into my mind. What if… what if it was the kiss?
Heat floods my face, creating a mini steam room under my mask. I push the thought out of my head. Switching bodies, switching fortunes—that doesn’t happen in real life.
Still, something odd is happening.
“Whether or not I have good luck, what if I don’t want my bad luck back?” I pose. “Can I hang on to it for a little longer? Maybe until I secure a job?”
“I don’t want to take anything away from you,” Logan says. He turns to look at me, his piercing eyes meeting mine. He keeps them there for a few long seconds. The crinkles on his silicone exterior look just as lifelike as his real-life ones. The ones I look forward to seeing every time he smiles.
We’re in the present, looking like the future. It’s surreal, in a way, being here with Older Logan. We look as though we’ve spent decades together when I’ve only known this man for half a month. It’s like we’re role-playing a prediction, if that prediction were to say Logan and I ended up together.
For the length of Tiff from Westchester’s interview, I let myself live in that version of reality. Logan ordering pizza and chocolate milkshakes, bandaging up my scrapes. Logan being patient, keeping promises. Logan coming up with ridiculous-but-smart ideas like disguising ourselves on TV just so I’m comfortable. Logan smiling every time I come into view, looking at me like he really sees me.
And these are just the memories from knowing him for two weeks. What would a lifetime look like?
I blink the vision away, but I’m left with a truth: I’m attracted to a man I hardly know.
“I don’t want you to have bad luck, either,” I say, realizing I’ve been quiet for several minutes. “I feel bad.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want your pity.”
“You sure? Because if I got the fortunes you did, I’d want your pity.”
He straightens, the check lifting higher on his side. “Setbacks are an opportunity. The same goes for bad fortunes. This is a challenge I can overcome,” he says, and his upbeat tone almost makes me believe him, but I hear a bitter edge in his words. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again. This bad luck streak can’t possibly last forever.”
The fourth winner poses excitedly with her large check. She’s the first person to actually look happy about her win. I would’ve thought the other winners would’ve been jumping up and down with millionaire joy.
Watching everyone claim their money, it seems like there might be something to what Logan was saying about how we’re bonded in this highly unusual way. I feel weirdly emotional about these people I don’t know and will never see again. We’ll always have in common this press conference, this one Powerball that changed our lives. Once we step out of here, we’re back to being strangers. Ones with “lottery winner” attached to our names and our stories, the ones we tell and the ones others tell about us.
Well, not me and Logan, since we’re not telling anyone. We’re the only ones who will know this tidbit about each other. We’ll forever share this secret.
“I can’t just take your luck and leave you to fend for yourself,” I say, knowing everything that’s at stake for him. I pat his shoulder. “When I was having a rough day, you helped me. Now you’re going through a rough time.”
It’s not guilt that’s driving this, though I do feel that. The man honored his word and split the winnings. He doesn’t deserve this.
At the same time, we look at my hand on Logan’s shoulder before our eyes find each other’s. A rush of heat up my neck is apparently my auto-response to touching Logan.
“I’m going to help you,” I blurt. I puff out my cheeks, my own words surprising me. I don’t take it back, though. While I’m job hunting and working at the candy shop, I need a distraction. A bigger purpose. This will give me exactly that, while being able to return Logan’s favor.
“And how exactly are you going to do that?” he asks.
Given that I just came up with the idea, I have no idea. “I’m good at fixing things. Have been for eighty years.”
