Page 133 of Maybe You

My first week is long. There’s a lot of paperwork to cover and a lot of people to meet, so usually, by the time I walk out of the building, rush hour is already over. I don’t mind staying late. It gives me less free time. My new routine is that I finish at my first job, quickly grab dinner, and head to the pool. Then, once I’m done there, I’m exhausted to the bone, so all I can manage is to drag my sorry ass back home and fall into bed.

Which makes it really fucking inconvenient when on Friday, my supervisor, John, sticks his head into the office I share with two other interns, and tells me to head home early.

I frown at him while I silently root for him to rethink. He’s smiling, so this doesn’t seem like one of those situations where I don’t know how to read the room and ‘leave early’ is code for ‘you’re fired.’

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t mind staying.”

“One hundred percent. I’m heading out myself. Visiting in-laws. So you might as well go, too.”

I don’t know exactly what my expression says, but it makes John laugh.

“Stop looking so worried. You’re doing great. Honestly, I’m really impressed with you so far, so in order to have you back on Monday, well rested, I want you to head out, kick back, and relax for the weekend.”

I take a quick glance at my watch.

“It’s an order,” John says.

So I force myself to smile back and nod.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Fucking crap.

“Enjoy your weekend.” He disappears from the doorway.

Hayley, one of the people I share the office with grins at me from behind her computer.

“You heard the man. Get lost.”

I shut my laptop and hold my hands up.

“Going. I’m going.”

In another minute, I have my stuff packed, and I wave at her.

“Bye.”

“Do something stupid,” she tells my back, grinning when I turn around with a startled look.

Once outside, I take a deep breath and glance at my watch again.

Four fifteen. The hell am I going to do until eight o’clock? Head back home and stare at my phone, trying to figure out where the line is between trying to get your boyfriend to talk to you and harassment, and whether I’ve already crossed it?

Goddamn pathetic.

I’m hovering in the middle of the sidewalk, most likely annoying people, when I hear my name.

I whirl around so quickly I almost slam my messenger bag into some dude’s face. Heart beating wildly, I look around.

The overwhelming, nauseating hope crashes and burns in record time when I see who it is.

Ethan’s smile is wide and happy and slightly crooked. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a pale green short-sleeved shirt with flowers printed all over it. Sunlight makes his hair look copper today.

“Hey,” I say as he stops in front of me.

“Hey.” He grins.

And then we both ask, “What are you doing here?” at the exact same time.

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