Page 52 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

There is nothing in a caterpillar

that tells you it's going to be a butterfly.

~ R. Buckminster Fuller

The next week,on Monday, I find a to-go cup of coffee outside my door when I’m leaving for work, and another one on Tuesday waiting for me after my run. Then, on Wednesday, I find an almond croissant in a paper sleeve sitting next to the cup. The bag has a note scrawled on it:I thought you’d like this too.

I take a bite. It’s delicious. Flaky, crisp, buttery, filled with just the right amount of marzipan, coated in crunchy slivers of almonds and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. Perfection. I rarely indulge in pastries. And I love them more than any other sweet.

I’m holding my coffee in one hand, croissant in the other, with my eyes closed, humming at the taste and allowing myself to fully enjoy the rare indulgence. I sense his presence before my eyelids flutter open. I’m not alone. I look around. Logan’s at the edge of the lounge staring at me, his face neutral, as it so often is.

“Whoever is leaving those fortune cookies around just upped the ante,” I tell him. “I got coffee and pastries.” I lift my cup and then the little brown paper bag.

“Wow. All I got is another fortune cookie.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah. Yesterday. In my mailbox.”

“The mailbox? How do you think it got in there?”

“No idea. The cookie bandit must have an in with management. Is a person a bandit if they leave things instead of taking them?”

“I don’t think so. What did your fortune say?”

“I’d love to share, but I heard somewhere that when you tell your fortune, it doesn’t come true. And I kind of hope this one does.”

“That’s the rule for birthday wishes,” I tell him, realizing how ridiculous this conversation is but still feeling one hundred percent invested.

“Well, I don’t want to take my chances with this one,” he says, casually but firmly.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Enjoy your coffee.” Logan winks and walks toward the staircase.

That wink. It’s so devastating. Or it would be on someone more susceptible to his charm. I’ll give Logan that. The man knows how to wink. His wink is nearly as delicious as this pastry. I take another bite while I watch Logan disappear down the spiral staircase. Then I stand in my doorway, taking a long sip of coffee and letting the sweet, tangy flavor fill my mouth.

I don’t know why he’s buying me these treats, but I don’t really care anymore. I’m going to enjoy the heck out of them. And still sleep with one eye open, of course.

I show up to work with a little bounce in my step. Charlie greets me at the doorway before I’ve even walked over to the cubbies to stash my purse.

“We’ve got trouble,” he says. “Aspyn Green just went viral for her Untethered post.”

We hired various celebrities and social media influencers to promote Untethered for us. Aspyn Green is a big name.

“Why is that trouble?” I ask, following Charlie through the open floor plan of the shared workspace, past tables where coworkers are busy discussing other clients and projects.

Logan is standing at a table toward the back of the room, right next to the carpeted area with colorful bean bag chairs and a few oversized chairs and loveseats.

“Wait ’til you see her post,” Charlie says. “Mais non!”

Charlie is our resident world-traveler. He spent a year in France followed by a year in Italy while working on his marketing degree. He resorts to foreign exclamations when he’s rattled. This must be bad.

We reach Logan. He turns his laptop in my direction, and without a word he clicks play on Aspyn’s reel. She’s standing on the edge of her balcony tossing slices of bread over the railing. The next clip is her yeeting a protein shake. The clip shifts to her spinning in a circle, leaves of kale flying out like water spraying from a rotating sprinkler.

“What am I seeing?” I ask Logan and Charlie.

“Wait for it,” Charlie says.

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