Page 118 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

The fortune says,Winning isn’t everything—unless it’s her heart.

“Coincidental,” I mutter, feeling an awful lot like Scrooge when he was haunted by three specters in one night—only I’m being haunted by crisp after-dinner soundbites of wisdom.

“I’m already winning her heart,” I mutter.

I pull the crushed cookie out of my pocket and open it next.

It says,What’s more important? Your job or your relationship?

What kind of fortune is that?

“That’s not a fortune,” I say out loud. And then I add, as if someone’s listening, “Obviously my relationship is infinitely more important.”

I stuff the two opened cookies and their wrappers into my pocket, crumbs and bits included, and then I take out the final cookie, the one that hit me on the nose. I turn it over in my hand. Then I look around. Who is behind all this?

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the cookie.

The fortune floors me.If a woman matters to you, sacrifice everything to win her heart.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say these were planted here. They almost form a message between the three of them. Of course, they don’t. How could they? Still … the words on those little scraps of paper reverberate in my mind while I walk to Olivia’s apartment.

I’m carefully glancing upward, to the side, and to the ground in case another cookie appears out of nowhere. None do, of course. Because cookies don’t just appear out of nowhere.

I knock on the door, my mind a jumble of concern for Olivia and preoccupation with the origin of these random but far-too-applicable cookies.

The door swings open, and I start to speak, but then my brain catches up with my eyes.

“Megan? What are you doing here? Is Olivia here? Have you seen her?”

“One: Yes. It’s me. Two: I’m here because Olivia needs me. Three: She is here. Four: I have seen her.”

Meagan’s standing in such a way that she fully blocks my entry to Olivia’s apartment.

“May I see her? She left work early. We were going to have lunch. She didn’t even say goodbye. I’m concerned. Is she okay?”

“No, you may not see her. I’m aware she left early. Also aware you were going to have lunch. She’ll say goodbye when she’s good and ready. And you ought to be concerned. And she’ll probably kill me for answering this last one, but no. She isn’t okay.”

“What? She’s not okay? Megan. I have to see her. What happened?”

“Logan, I’m a lot of things. Loyal is at the top of that list. You are not going to see Olivia right now. She’s resting. The last person on earth she needs to see right now is you.”

“What? Why would I be the last person she needs to see right now?”

Megan stares at me like I’m the village idiot—and I must be.

I run my hand through my hair.

“I have to see her.”

“You don’t.”

I stare into Megan’s eyes. She could work for the King’s Guard at Buckingham palace. All she needs is a big furry hat. She’s unwavering, and her facial expression doesn’t flinch even a little.

I take a deep breath, running my hand through my hair again.

“Megan, the woman I love is suffering. I need to see her. Please.”

“Come in!” Davy Jones squawks. “Let ’im in! All Abooooard!”

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