“But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”
“Then at least you won’t be carrying this around anymore,” she says. “And besides, he’s your brother’s best friend. You’re not exactly disappearing from each other’s lives.”
I stare at my untouched pizza. “Maybe I will write to him—say I’m sorry.”
Harlee nods. “That’s all I’m saying. Make amends.”
“But what if he doesn’t reply?” I ask quietly.
“Then you let it go.” She shrugs. “Or—wild idea—you use a phone. I know you love the vintage romance of the postal service, but sometimes modern technology exists for a reason.”
I take a deep breath, leaning back in the arm chair. “I guess … my best option for making amends is to write to him, considering I freaked out when I was around him…”And he kissed me.
I don’t know why I’m keeping that detail from Harlee, but something about it feels too private to share. Maybe it’s because I’m used to having these personal conversations with my journal, so to tell it to a living, breathing person is way more terrifying.
“I think you should,” Harlee says, confidence in her tone. Then she pauses, pursing her lips. “Also—completely unrelated—but you know who may be the most unhappy person alive?”
“Who?” I laugh.
“The lady who works the front desk of your apartment. I don’t think she’seversmiled at me. I think next time I’m going to bring her some flowers or something … Try to brighten her mood.”
“Ha.” I giggle. “Good luck with that.”
She turns to me, grinning. “And good luck with your pen pal.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Weston
Maria:See you this evening, right? Rambo is in desperate need of a bath. He got into something in the exercise yard this morning.
I chuckle as I read the message, thinking about the obnoxious, energy-filled dog giving Maria a run for her money. I’ve been volunteering at the animal shelter almost every single evening and during the day on the weekend, if I’m not hanging out with anyone.
Dating hasn’t even crossed my mind.
I send Maria a quick text back, letting her know that I should be there this evening, once I stop by my apartment and change.The first day I showed up wearing nice clothes, but I quickly learned that it was much better to dress for a mess.
After the text sends, I turn back to my computer, rolling through the coding project that one of the junior developers sent over this afternoon. It seems to be fine, but it’s still not quite automating the way it should be.
Eddy really should be the one to fix this,I think to myself. But of course, the kid sent it over right before he left for vacation for the next two weeks. And while he’s enjoying Mexico, I’ll be fixing his mistakes.
Typical.
With a deep breath, I reach forward and kick on the speaker—a light classical foray of music filling the room. I spend the next twenty minutes focusing solely on accomplishing work, and allow myself to get lost in it.
Well, until Parker shows up with his usual heavy knock on the door.
“Hey, Beethoven.”
“Sup, Scrooge,” I say, never even pulling my eyes away from the screen.
“Did Eddy mess up the automation for CliniCo?”
“Yep,” I reply, still punching away at the keyboard. “I can’t figure out exactly what he did, but the answers aren’t coming out correctly. This isn’t going to go over well with the client, and you know it. He messed up the last one, too.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you’re twenty-two years old and all you care about is making it to your two-week vacay.” Parker lets out a frustrated grunt, and then places a hand on the back of my desk chair, leaning against it. “I guess it’s a good thing I have you to pick up the slack.”
“Uh-huh,” I say absent-mindedly. “That’s me.”
