Page 89 of That Friendzone Feeling

Icheck it one more time.Nothing.

Myeyes drift shut.Imight just have to leave them that way for a few minutes.

Butwhere the hell isWalker?

Christ, it’s dark out.Howlong didInap for?

Iroll onto my back so neither ear is blocked by the pillow and listen for sounds ofWalker-related movement.Nothing.

Igrab my phone off the nightstand.Stillno messages.Also, it’s 2:34 a.m.Nowonder my head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton candy.

MaybeWalkergot back whileIwas passed out and is already in bed.There’severy chanceIwas so wipedIdidn’t hear him come home.

Iheave myself off the bed, every limb feeling like it weighs double what it usually does.Ipad out of my room, flick on the lights, and look for signs of life.

There’sno new coat or shoes, and nothing’s different in the living room or kitchen from whenIgot back.

Imake my way across toWalker’sbedroom door and press my ear to it.Nothing.Butthese old barn doors are so thick he’d have to be snoring like an elephant for me to hear it.AndIknow from experience—beautiful, blissful, almost-making-me-late-for-my-flight experience—that he doesn’t snore.

MaybeIcan just inch the door open to check.Islide it back, and it screams like a mouse being stepped on, making me jump.GuessIdidn’t realizehow jitteryIam.

Andthere’s his bed.Empty.

Mystomach turns over, heavy with dread.

Jesus,Walker.Wherethe fuck are you?

Theonly sign of life is the deep red cashmere sweaterIgot him a fewChristmasesago, tossed on the floor.

“Waytoo nice to leave in a crumpled heap,”Itell the room asIcross to pick it up.

It’sbaby soft in my hands.AsIfold it, the image of him pulling it on immediately after unwrapping it and his head popping out with a giant smile and mussed-up hair snaps into my mind.

BeforeIrealize whatI’mdoing, my face is buried in it andI’mbreathing in the intoxicating aroma of his citrus body wash, a hint of beer, and that sweet smell that’s uniquely him.

Butwhat the hell amIdoing sniffingWalker’sclothes?

AsIpull it away from my face, something on his nightstand catches my eye in the half light from the living room.

Mypulse flutters.Isthat whatIthink it is?SomethingIhaven’t seen in a very long time.

Ilay the sweater on the bed and turn on the lamp.Thelight shines directly onto the little blue book with the white letteringIchose for the front that reads, “NeverForget!”

Oh.Hestill has it.Myheart beats with joy and sadness at the same time.

Isit on the edge of the bed and pick up the book.Almostreluctant to open it,Irun my fingers around the edge, tracing the outline of the memory.

Ihaven’t seen this lying around the loft before.AndI’msure it wasn’t on the nightstand whenIwas in here three nights ago—althoughIwas somewhat distracted.Didhe dig it out to look through it whileIwas away?

Iopen the cover and read my handwritten note on the first page.

Tothe best partner anyone could ever wish for.

Let’snever forget how it started.

Andcheers to our future.

Emx.