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“Got a delivery for ya.”
No, he doesn’t. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Not my problem. We’ve been waiting for two hours, boss’s orders. We just wanna go home.”
“What is it?” I ask, walking closer.
The driver pokes his head into the truck and pops out holding a clipboard. “A table or some shit.”
I direct him to the door closest to my unit. They’re going to have to carry whatever it is up a flight of stairs, but they should be used to that.
Baby’s excited, trotting around the movers’ legs, yipping. Nothing happens to me, and on the unheard of occasion it does, it’s cause for a full-out celebration.
I kick Baby’s cushion out of the way and the men move a black and silver table into the space where it was meant to go. It looks like something out of a ’50s diner, a drop-down leaf on one side.
They go back to the truck and haul up four matching chairs.
“Where did this come from?” Maybe Pop got it into his head that now that I’m seeing Zarah, I needed a table in case she ever spent time here. A little late for that.
The driver shoves an envelope at me, and they slam out of my apartment, put out I wasn’t home and had to wait.
I open the card, and Zarah’s elegant script says,I hope you like it. Maybe invite me for dinner sometime? xo – Zarah
Studying the table, I admit it’s me, and it fits into the color scheme of the kitchen just fine. I like it, and it surprises me she bothered to look at my apartment and put her own tastes aside to buy something that would suit me. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it, and she’s into all things retro.
Baby lays under the table, tickled pink with the new arrangement.
“Brat.”
I send Zarah a quick text.Thanks for the table. You can come over any time you want.
She never did return my call, but I’d been too caught up in looking for that girl to notice. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Her message appears two seconds after I press Send.You’re welcome. What about tomorrow?
Sure. What time?
About six?
Sounds good. Do you need a ride?I don’t mind running out to get her, but I’ll be filling my tank a lot more than usual if this keeps up.
No. Douglas can drive me into the city. Ummm…
She stops typing, and I wait for what she wants to say next. It’s going to be something about sex since that seems to be an issue whenever we’re together alone. I don’t blame her, Zane and Stella probably warning her if she and I grew close it would eventually put us on that path, but she and Max have already been intimate. I don’t resemble my brother in any way, but I’m hardly scary. She was able to push through what Ash did to her and have a relationship with him. Dating me shouldn’t be that different.
Finally, she types,You said I could bring clothes. Did you mean it? Can I spend the night?
It’s not a big deal, and I don’t mind sleeping on the couch if it means I can wake up and look at her beautiful face over coffee.Yes to both. See you tomorrow.
She sends me a couple of blowing heart emojis, and I set my phone on my new table. I feel a little better about spending the evening alone because tomorrow I won’t have to.
I nuke a bowl of macaroni and cheese and grab Max’s lockbox off my desk and carry it downstairs. I guess I can start working in the kitchen. That’s not so bad—I’ll be closer to the coffeemaker.
While I eat, I page through Max’s diary. It still seems an invasion of his privacy, though he left it to me and obviously wanted me to read it.
The entries before he meets Zane and Stella don’t interest me. Notes about his articles, some women he met at the bars. I catch a lonely vibe from a few of the pages, and I’m in agreementthere. It’s no wonder he fell for Zarah so hard. She has a way of squirming under your defenses and all of a sudden you’re addicted.
There’s a short entry about his ex-girlfriend who told him the FBI had possession of the black box. I don’t know why he looked into the case at all. I would have to start his journal from the beginning if I wanted that kind of information, and it’s not that important. He did, and that’s all that matters. He started an avalanche, and the snow is still suffocating the poor bastards who are unfortunate enough to be in the way.