Page 18 of If the Ring Fits

At the bottom, I find something unexpected. A wad of tiny strips of paper held together with a binder clip—fortune cookies messages. I pluck one free and read it. “The one you love is closer than you think.”

I scoff and move on to the next. And the next. Each message is more saccharine than the last.

“In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities.” Debatable.

“Love isn’t something you find. Love is something that finds you.” Gag me.

But there are also some funny ones.

“Borrow money from a pessimist. They won’t expect it back.” Ha!

Or weird ones.

“He who throws dirt is losing ground.” What does that even mean?

“Love is like wildflowers… it is often found in the most unlikely places.” Okay, kind of pretty. I guess.

“True love is not something that comes every day. Followyour heart, it knows the right answer.” This one’s so cheesy it makes me shudder.

I flip another one. “For rectal use only.”

A surprised bark of laughter escapes me. Then a chuckle. Soon, I’m cracking up, shoulders shaking with mirth. Tears blur my vision as I give in to the hilarity.

Gosh, what a roller coaster. This last message was so unexpected, so irreverent. This glimpse into her personality… it’s enthralling. Appealing.

I want to know more about her. But not just because I need her to say yes to me more than I’ve ever needed anything.

I read the last fortune cookie message. “If you eat something and no one sees you, it has no calories.” I chuckle, shaking my head.

I replace everything into the box except for the plant, my fingers lingering on the cardboard. It feels wrong that I snooped, but I’m also sort of glad I did. With a sigh, I glance at the succulent. Does it need water? I have no idea. I’ve never been much of a green thumb.

But it seems important to her, so I decide to err on the side of caution. I’ll leave it be for now. It’s a succulent, right? They don’t require frequent watering. Instead, I carry it over to the windowsill, where it’ll catch the morning light. There. That should do it.

Suddenly exhausted, I head to my bedroom. I strip off my suit, leaving a trail of expensive fabrics on the floor, eager to collapse into bed.

The mattress welcomes me like an old friend. For a long moment, I stare at the ceiling. My phone is a lead weight in my hand. I want to text her. Ask if she has thought about what she’s going to do. But it could come across as me pressuring her or appearing too eager, too desperate. Even if I am.

My thumb hovers over her contact. Rowena Taylor. I can’t tell if the flutter in my chest is nerves or excitement. Both, maybe.

Before I can second guess myself, I open a new message. The cursor blinks at me, mocking. Taunting. I flex and unflex my fingers… and start to type.

10

ADRIAN

I decide to keep it simple.

Adrian

Hey, this is Adrian

I send the text and stretch an arm behind my head, my back sinking comfortably into the propped-up pillows.

Rowena

Hey?

The quick response pops up. It’s nothing exceptional, but it gives me a thrill, anyway. I wonder what she’s doing still up. Hopefully the nausea isn’t keeping her awake.

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