CHAPTER 6
42 DAYS UNTIL ANNA & DRAKE'S WEDDING
PIPER
Piper placed her keys on the hook by the door. The hook she'd installed after twelve separate instances of her roommate losing her keys. Then she let out an exhale that felt like it had been trapped in her lungs all day.
"I'm home," she called, toeing off her heels and lining them up perfectly on the shoe rack by her front door. Each pair in its precise spot, organized by color, then heel height. It was a small thing, but after a day of dealing with everything at her office, these little rituals of order kept her sane.
"Is that you making sensible shoe noises?" Shelby called from the living room, her voice carrying over the low murmur of the television. "Or did you go with glitter again today?"
Glitter. It'd been glitter ever since she slipped on Zach's key fob and got stuck in the damn gum.
She rounded the corner to find Shelby sprawled across their couch, surrounded by a nest of script pages, highlighters, and at least three empty mugs. The faint aroma of Shelby's citrusy perfume and the essential oils she loved to diffuse mingled in the air. As an aspiring screenwriter and part-time barista, Shelby was Piper's opposite in almost every way. Where Piper preferred control, Shelby was chaotic, spontaneous, and perpetually running late.
Yet, somehow, they'd been roommates for three years and counting.
The apartment she shared with Shelby was like a visual manifestation of their personalities. Piper had added a pale wool rug, kept her bookshelf color-coded, and kept a tidy desk where each pen had its own cup.
Everything Shelby owned was a riot of color. She had canvases leaning against the wall, bins spilling art supplies, and a jungle of plants in various stages of survival.
Somehow, the arrangement worked for them both.
"I brought you a snack." Piper held up the smoothie she'd grabbed for Shelby on the way home.
"I hope there's wine in that cup. Because if 'snack' means pureed vegetables, I'm officially disowning you as a roommate." Shelby frowned.
"It's Tuesday," Piper replied, placing the cup on her side of the coffee table.
"Wine is for Thursdays and special occasions," Shelby groaned. "You and your schedule."
As different as they were, Shelby was the only person who truly understood Piper.
Piper grabbed the bag of actual potato chips she'd hidden in a pile of Shelby's laundry last week. She dug through the pile. She figured the chips would be a little reward for Shell if she folded something.
Shelby eyed her suspiciously and moved directly in the middle of the sofa, like it was her personal mission to blur all boundaries.
"Saving for a special occasion," Piper muttered, cracking open the bag with a loud pop and releasing the salty, savory scent of the chips. "Day from hell qualifies."
"Spill," Shelby demanded, grabbing a handful of chips and biting into one with a crisp crunch. "The D.I.C.K. guys giving you shit? Or the PR lady driving you up a wall?"
Shelby closed her eyes and practically moaned as she chewed on a chip.
"The Directors of Interment and Cremation Knowledge continues to go well." Though they were seriously going to have to workshop that acronym. "And Tess continues to be Tess."
Shelby lifted her eyebrows the slightest bit. "Then what's up with the too-attractive-for-his-own-good underwear designer helper?"
"It's not him. Zach's been great." Piper paused, searching for a suitably professional description that wouldn't reveal how distractingly attractive she found Zach. "I just feel like everything's complicated."
Shelby tilted her head to the side. "Complicated like 'he wants to change all the wedding plans' or complicated like 'you want to climb him like a tree'?"
"Shelby." Piper threw the decorative pillow at her roommate's head, a quiet thud as it missed its target.
"That's not a denial," Shelby sang, after she deftly dodged the pillow.
Piper busied herself adjusting the perfectly aligned stack of coasters on the coffee table. "He's just being so helpful and everything else is a mess."
"Oh hell, you really are totally into him." Shelby fist-pumped in the air. "Finally. It's been, what, two years since Dave the Douchebag?"
