“Yes. Sorry. It’s been a week,” I explain. Understatement. “But I’d love to meet for coffee. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“How’s ten-thirty?”
Always efficient. I attempt a smile. “Sounds great.”
Connor nods, his cheeks still rosy, and I have to look away. But what I find behind him is worse: Penn, coming around the corner, chatting up one of the employees. Still holding a grocery bag and those damn bouquets.
His jaw drops. He approaches, and I wish I could melt, Wicked Witch–style, onto the hideous tile floor. What the hell was I thinking, following him?
Penn would like to know the same. “What are you doing here?”
“Penn!” I chirp, as if it’s lovely to run into him here, at the Lakeville Senior Center. “This is Connor. My accountant.” Facing Connor, I bow. Like an idiot. “Connor, this is Penn Hayes. My…” Friend? Roommate? Magical other half, whom I’m trying to seduce in hopes that he can beam me out of this godforsaken land? “My brother’s best friend.”
Penn’s eyes spark with a joke that he’s smart enough not to say aloud. Without a free hand to extend to Connor, he does a bro-nod instead.
Connor smiles stiffly in response, and I know that smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, barely shows his teeth. He’s flashed it to his least favorite clients, anyone who calls himdude, and to Real Penn. Many times.
“Ruby,” Connor says. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Great!” I grin back maniacally, my hands waving through the air. I must look like a demented jack-in-the-box.
“Miss?” Walter calls out.
I make the mistake of catching his eye, and he lifts the clipboard. “This will just take a minute,” I shout back. “My cousin here needs my help.”
“But you still need to—”
Penn cuts Walter off. “Yourcousin?”
I shush him and grab one of the bouquets to make it look like we’re in this together. Pulling Penn by the wrist, I drag him toward the elevators to get us away from other eyeballs. And get some answers.
“What is going on?” Penn scold-whispers.
“I’m the one who deserves an explanation,” I volley back.
“What are you talking about?”
The elevator dings. I head inside, and with a groan, Penn follows, pressing the fourth-floor button. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”
“Why areyouhere? And who is she?”
“Who’s who?”
I point at him. “Don’t play dumb. The redhead. I saw her this morning, leaving my house.”
Penn’s eyebrows lift, but before he can respond, the doors open on the second floor.
An older lady steps inside and presses the button for the third floor. “How sweet,” she says, gesturing to the flowers. Then she surveys my getup and winks. “Smart girl. Show off those stems while you can.”
The doors open, and my new best friend leaves.
As we climb another floor, I scowl at Penn. “You made me feel crazy for even joking about a secret girlfriend, and then…” I shake my head. “Is it a relationship? Or are you two, you know”—I gesture to his lower region, and his gaze follows—“special ‘buddies’ of some kind?” He sputters a laugh, which enrages me even more. “Because I’ve done quite a thorough inventory of your Instagram account, Penn, plus all your followers, and she’s nowhere.”
“Ruby, I’m not—”
The doors open on the fourth floor. Two men stand there, waiting. I smile sweetly at them, then follow Penn down the hallway, jogging to keep up with his long, brisk strides.
“Look,” I say. “I know we’re not a thing. But last night, I…”
