Page 116 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

She walks down the hall, and I open a cabinet to grab two mugs. When I turn to fill the kettle, the crumbs and scraps of cellophane along with the crumpled fortune are on my counter. I could have sworn I just dumped those into the trash can.

I pull the can over to the edge of the counter and push the cookie bits and wrapper into the trash. Like a glutton for punishment, I pick the fortune up and reread it.

Don’t let the past predict your future. Things aren’t always as they appear.

What does that mean anyway?

Things aren’t always as they appear.

Things are as they appear. That’s why we call it appearing.

I glance at the paper again. What is happening? I rub my eyes.

The fortune says, clear as day,Give him a chance to explain.

I drop the paper as if it’s on fire. Nothing happens. It doesn’t swirl around, start talking, or float back into my hand.

I reluctantly and carefully lift it off the floor, closing my eyes and opening them again.

When I look at the paper, the original message is there:

Don’t let the past predict your future. Things aren’t always as they appear.

Okay. Obviously, I imagined that transformation. I’m grieving and tired and overwhelmed.

A cookie doesn’t change its message.

Still, the words ring through my head as if the walls of this building are actually whispering them:Give him a chance to explain.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Logan

The worst feeling is knowing you've

hurt someone you care about deeply.

~ Unknown

“Has anyone seen Olivia?”I step into the open workspace and address everyone.

Do I look a little frantic? Concerned? Crazed?

I don’t care. Something doesn’t feel right.

Olivia was there one minute, planning to go to lunch with me, flirting in a workplace-appropriate way, working on the deli project, and then she got the call from Lynette and stepped out into the hallway. I took my eyes off her when Darwin came in to give me the good news.

When I looked around for Olivia, she was gone. Darwin and I walked down the hall from the conference room together, and she was nowhere. It was as if she vanished into thin air.

At first, I assumed she went to the restroom. But she’s been gone for nearly twenty minutes.

I sent her a text asking where she went, and she never answered.

I called. It went to voicemail.

Finally, I walked by the women’s restrooms, popped the door open a centimeter and shouted, “Olivia?” Waited. Shouted her name again.

A woman’s voice yelled back. “Not Olivia!”

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