Page 68 of Heart So Hollow

He winks, “Thank me later.” This is his usual response.

It’s absolutely ridiculous. Never mind the new SUV sitting in the driveway or the fact that I’m living mortgage-free in a house with him. All that is fine, but I still can’t handle Bowen replacing my ruined phone.

I can’t stick around to argue anyway. Vacation and the holiday are over, so I’m back to my regular schedule at work. But, as soon as my coworker, Abby, sits down in front of my desk, it’s apparent that we have a lot of catching up to do.

“What—” Abby zeroes in on my hand as I’m scrawling an email address on a blue post-it, “is that?”

Nothing gets past her, especially on the first day back in the office from a holiday. This happened last Christmas, too…and the Fourth of July, and after her two-week vacation to Tahiti. We sit in each other’s offices for hours on end, guzzling mugs of coffee, trying to remember what we do for work.

Normally, I wouldn’t even be here today. I only go into the office two or three days a week depending on my schedule. And of those days, I usually pick the opposite schedule from everyone else because I like the quiet. It’s also the reason I decided to switch offices and take up residence in the empty one on the second floor next to the server rooms. Abby calls me a hermit, but she still comes by every day to hang out and drink coffee.

As much as I didn’t want my time off to end, it’s a nice change of scenery to come in and see everyone again. Abby sets her mint green Yeti mug on my desk and leans in to get a better look at my ring. She tucks her platinum blonde hair behind her ear and gazes at the teal stone.

“Um, yeah,” I haven’t even thought about how to tell anybody about this, “Bowen asked me to marry him.”

I’m afraid that Abby’s jaw is about to dislocate and end up a swinging pile of bone and flesh on my stack of manila folders.

“He proposed?” she hisses in a hushed voice. “How long have you been dating?”

I shift my eyes to side, “Almost five months.”

I know how this looks to people, but after I met Bowen, I realized drawing our relationship out in some protracted ritual under the socially acceptable guise of dating was useless. Some might argue I’m rushing into things, but the truth is that I’ve been cautious and methodical my entire adult life.

Except for that one time…

And that ended horribly.

But this time is different. Everything is different. When I decided to go on a walk through the woods with Bowen, everything played out the exact opposite from when I decided to go out on a limb and take a drive down to Cincinnati. No lies, no deception, no blood, no guns...

Fortunately, Abby sees value in this approach, too. “That is so edgy and romantic,” she collapses back in her chair with a smile.

The fact that she can use those two words to describe me or anything I do makes me chuckle.

“Settle down,” I stick the note onto the edge of my monitor, “I am none of these things.”

“Whatever,” Abby snorts and stands up, motioning for me to follow her, “I need more coffee. Tell me everything.”

Unsurprisingly, detailing the story of Bowen’s proposal on the way to the break room elicits further gasps of excitement. On more than one occasion, Abby stops dead in her tracks and makes me repeat myself. I’m not sure whether she’s impressed or can’t understand how the ghost of a hanged man played into the perfect marriage proposal. Either way, she seems satisfied with the story.

After the break room, Abby heads back to her office and I continue downstairs to the first floor on my way to check the receiving bay for a shipment of first aid supplies. My phone vibrates as I reach the ground floor. It’s Bowen, clearly in the process of procuring a new phone for me.

BOWEN (10:17AM): Does color matter? Are you going to freak out if they don’t have the right one? Wtf is Margarita and Drunk Tank Pink?

I laugh to myself, imagining Bowen standing at the phone counter in his boots and flannel, staring in exasperation as a bubbly sales girl asked, in all seriousness, if he wants a “Drunk Tank Pink” phone.

ME (10:19AM): Are those colors?? As long as it turns on it’ll be fine. I need a new case anyway.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket, now at 60% battery, and round the corner into the open-air lobby. The charcoal carpet gives way to polished stone, amplifying my footsteps as I pass reception. The lobby is empty except for Eric Westcote, the security manager, and two other security guards. I recognize one of them as Nate, a tall, lanky guy with dirty blonde hair who makes his rounds past my office every day. I gloss over them as I pass, until I catch a glimpse of the third one.

I do a double-take and it feels like someone just punched me in the gut.

I slow down as I pass behind Eric, nearly coming to a stop. A man with dark auburn hair stands facing him and, consequently, facing me. I know him. I know his hair, I know his smile, I know the freckles on his cheeks just under his eyes.

Dear God, his eyes...

They’re vast aquamarine oceans that drown me as soon as I see them.

I know him.

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