Page 8 of Ex Marks the Spot

“More like their dedication to true crime documentaries,” Hartley mutters. “But now that we’ve established no one is being assaulted, it’s time for us to get back to work. I’ll see you two later.” She ushers her roommates toward the door. I swear I hear them whisper something about hands along the way.

The monitor above the stove flashes with an incoming order.

Corn cakes x3, custom: Gordon Ramsay

The last two pixelated words on the screen have me more awake than the two shots of espresso I downed at the start of my shift.

She’s here.

Alice, a fiftysomething waitress who takes her role as work-mom-of-college-students seriously, pops into the kitchen. “The trio of young ladies at table sixteen assured me you’d know what they meant.”

I hide my shit-eating grin with a fake yawn, but Alice’s smirk tells me she’s not buying it.

“Which one is she?”

“Which one is who?”

“The girl making you smile like it’s ‘buy one, get a hundred free’ day at the candy store.”

I peek through the doorway into the dining room. Hartley and Corrina are listening to Megan’s animated monologue about a large fish, if I’m correctly interpreting her wild gestures. They both laugh when Megan mimics an explosion. I can’t hear them from across the room, but the sound of Hartley’s laugh echoes through my head anyway.

The rest of Friday night went much smoother than it started. Specifically, everyone remained upright and there were no more threats of death. My only complaint is that four hours went by way too fast. I bought another twentyminutes with her by insisting that I help reassemble her bed before I left, but time has dragged more than a one-legged elephant since then.

As if she can feel my gaze from the kitchen, Hartley turns her head and locks eyes with me. A shy smile emerges on her face as she lifts her hand in a tiny wave. Seeing the gesture, Megan immediately pauses and follows Hartley’s line of sight. Her smile is much bigger. Corrina’s too. Megan says something and playfully nudges Hartley, who bites her bottom lip and ducks her head.

“She’s pretty,” Alice says beside me.

And smart. And talented. And so damn funny.

Alice laughs and guides me back to the stove. “Get to work, Gordon. I’ll be back in a few.”

I’m putting the finishing touches on Hartley’s plate when Alice returns. Corn cakes are normally served stacked with ramekins of whipped cream and blueberry syrup on the side. I arranged Hartley’s in a row, spread the whipped cream across the tops, and added van Gogh swirls of blueberry syrup. Not gallery worthy by any means, but an honest effort from a psych major who specializes in stick figures.

Alice takes one look at the plate and grips me by the shoulders. “Open the door for her, don’t leave her on ‘read,’ and for Pete’s sake, use a condom.”

My mouth hangs open. “We’re not?—”

Her pointed look silences me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Confident I’ve absorbed her instructions, she transfers the order onto a tray and starts for the dining room.

“Wait!” I rush to the wall of lockers to retrieve a small package. “Give this to her?” I ask, setting it beside Hartley’s plate.

“Oh, Court.” Alice shakes her head and laughs all the way to table sixteen.

I move to the doorway and watch Hartley’s hand fly to her face when she sees her breakfast. She looks back and forth between me and her plate, then removes her hand to mouthThank youwhile Megan and Corrina practically ooze out of their chairs.

I smile back, my heart feeling like I just summited a mountain.

When Alice delivers the package, Hartley’s eyes find mine again and she raises her brows. I’m just about to motion for her to open it when Megan grabs her by the arm and tells her the same thing.

Laughing, Hartley slides her fingers under the tape and removes the grocery store paper bag wrapping in one piece. She reads the note and holdsup the package of glow-in-the-dark stars. And then she’s beaming—at me, her roommates, her breakfast, and the family one table over. But most importantly, she’s nodding.

Which means I officially have a date on Friday to hang stars on Hartley Billings’s ceiling.

“Courtney over here is already lying to us,” Possibly Oscar says to the Holbrooke girls and the guy from Dixon State. “He didn’t even tell us his real name.”

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