Page 71 of Karma's Kiss

Marge saw a 1987 issue ofBridewith half its pages ripped out sitting in the trash can and scolded me for fifteen minutes. I’ve learned my lesson. Trash gets taken out under the cloak of darkness or while Marge and Queenie are socializing on their lunch break.

I make sure there’s a tight seal on the trash can—just in case—then come back through the back door of the shop to find Sawyer standing near the front entrance, looking a little confused until he sees me.

“I wasn’t sure I was in the right office,” he admits, his eyes taking in the airplanes dangling from the ceiling. “Whatisthis place?”

“It’s a disaster is what it is.” I prop my hands on my hips. “Old travel agency turned…dump. I’ve been cleaning it out for over a week now. Can you tell?”

He winces, like he feels bad admitting, “Not really.”

I sigh with defeat. “Yeah. Same here. I suspect the piles of junk are multiplying when I’m not looking. A sort of voodoo magic Luellen cursed the building with before she retired.”

He smiles and holds up the paper bags in his hands. “Brought you a late lunch.”

Good thing Queenie and Marge aren’t here to see this. They’d turn to goop over the fact that Sawyer is trying to take such good care of me.

I smile, though it’s hard to meet his eyes fully because Sawyer’s wearing another nice button-down today. This version of him is strangely intimidating. “That’s nice of you, but I’m not too hungry. What with all the treats you left at Queenie’s for breakfast…” I point to the tray of scones and muffins near the Keurig. We haven’t even put a dent in them.

“Well…” He plops the lunch bags on the coffee table near the front couch. “Maybe just a little something then. You need to keep your strength up. I brought a burger from Cactus Cafe, and if that doesn’t interest you, I also grabbed a salad from the deli. I saw Queenie and Marge over there. Marge was showing off your new compression socks to everyone.”

I laugh and walk over to him, if only to steal a French fry out of the Cactus Cafe bag. They sprinkle the best seasoning salt on their fries. Sawyer unwraps the burger and cuts it in half, and then adds dressing to the salad. It’s homemade ranch, aka my kryptonite. I wonder if he asked Queenie for my order details. He must have.

“I told Marge she could break in the socks. I don’t think they’re something I’ll need until I’m much further along in my pregnancy,ifI’m even pregnant…” I feel like I need to point this out before we get too wrapped up in this fantasy we’re playing at.

Sawyer nods, trying to conceal his frown as best as he can. Is he truly as hopeful about this as I am?

“Are we totally crazy?” I ask him with a bewildered smile. “When I told you everything yesterday, I expected you to pass out.”

“Yeah, well I’m thirty, not nineteen… I’m good if you’re good.”

“I’m good.” I nod confidently.

With that, he hands me half of the burger, taking the other half for himself, and we share lunch together on the couch. I regale him with my plans for organizing the office, and he volunteers himself for cleanup duty anytime I need it. It’s such a nice conversation among friends. I barely have a hard time maintaining eye contact when his dark gaze lingers on me. I only glance at his lips and suppress the urge to kiss him say, half a dozen times. We’re friends! Friends feel nervous around eachother. Friends blush when their hands accidentally brush while reaching for a French fry. Relax, everyone! We’re friends!

I stand by what I told him yesterday. We’ve had an extremely strange start to our situationship. Me toying with him on Kendra’s behalf, him finding out through Charlotte, our drunken makeup, our brush with law enforcement, and now a potential little one on the way. The brakes have been pumped and locked. Though I’m sorely tempted, I am not going to suggest we toss these burgers aside and cap this lunch off with an afternoon delight on Luellen’s old couch. But to be honest, I deserve an award for my restraint.

Sawyer’s still with me when Queenie and Marge return. They take one look at us and their expressions turn wholesome and sweet.

“Look at them,” Marge says to Queenie.

“Too cute for words, I know.” Then Queenie smiles, snapping her fingers as if she’s just remembered something. “Actually, it’s a good thing you’re both here! Marge and I were chatting at lunch and we’ve got theperfectnames picked out for, you know…the potentialbaby.” She mouths the last word like she’s not supposed to say it out loud.

I for one don’t want to encourage her, but Sawyer’s all too happy to play along.

“Let’s hear ’em.”

Marge and Queenie smile at each other, then Queenie responds, “If it’s a boy, Anvil.”

“Anvil!?” I cry.

“And if it’s a girl, Mackynzee. Spelled M-A-C-K-Y-N-Z-E-E. How cute is that?”

Sawyer coughs to cover up his laugh. “I’m speechless,” he forces out while clearing his throat.

“I know! They’re so good! Tell them where we got the names,” Marge says, giddy with excitement.

“Anvil and Mackenzie are the two main characters in our next book club read,His Tortured Delights. It’s a romance about a widowed school teacher and an underground UFC fighter who happens to be”—Queenie waggles her eyebrows like she’s trying to drum up anticipation—“a billionaire.”

I’m already up on my feet, walking away from their nonsense.

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