Page 134 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Hi, Darwin,” she says.

“Hi, Olivia. Great. Well. See you two in a few hours—or sooner. But take your time.”

“Will do,” I tell him.

We hang up, and I turn toward Olivia.

We stare into each other’s eyes, all thoughts of Darwin and Barnes drifting away instantly.

“I thought I might never kiss you again,” I confess.

“Did you? Really?”

“I did. Did you?”

“I didn’t know. I wanted us to find a way to make this work … after my initial shock and anger wore off. After I found out you didn’t even know I wanted the manager position, then I wanted to make up. But I knew we had a lot to wade through. Our situation wasn’t only due to your oversight and lack of consideration, Logan. I was hanging on to a lot of hurt from our past. Resentment and fear clouded my judgment.”

“I would have known about all of that if I had talked to you before barreling toward my goal.”

“I think we’ll do better next time,” Olivia assures me.

“Agreed,” I tell her. “And now I want to celebrate your raise.”

“As long as we can celebrate your promotion at the same time,” she says.

“If that’s what you really want.”

“You said you want to be by my side while I soar toward my goals? I want to do that for you too, Logan. I don’t want to hold you back. I want to cheer you on. You deserve someone who celebrates your wins.”

“Do you know what I like to do when I celebrate?” I ask her, waggling my eyebrows playfully.

“I think I have a few ideas.” The flirtatious tone is back in her voice.

I lean in toward her. She meets me halfway.

I cup Olivia’s face, and my eyes dart between hers. She’s smiling softly at me.

“Kiss me, Alexander,” she says.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” I tease her.

And she does.

Epilogue

Olivia

Life's a marathon, not a sprint.

~ Phillip C. McGraw

Loganand I have been dating for almost a year.

But that’s not what we’re celebrating on the rooftop garden of The Serendipity tonight.

We’re actually up here, at a bistro table Logan set up for us, each of us with a giant bowl of pasta and a small portion of grilled chicken set in front of us. We’re carb loading mid-afternoon. It’s not exactly lunchtime, and it’s definitely too early for a usual dinner.

I’m finally running the Boston Marathon. And Logan insisted on buddy running with me, which means all his diligent training regimens resulted in no gain to him since he’ll run at my pace and end as a finisher with a time that resembles a strong recreational woman runner, not a nearly elite male athlete.

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