Page 1 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

Chapter One

Olivia

The magic thing about home is that

it feels good to leave,

and it feels even better to come back.

~ Wendy Wunder

“Slow down!”Megan shouts from behind me. “It’s not a race.”

Maybe not. But I have a feeling this apartment won’t be available for long. And it’s mine. It has to be mine. I practically lived there every Sunday through high school and whenever I was home from college.

We should have driven here. But no, I had to say,It’s a beautiful spring day. Let’s walk from my office.

Megan, my best friend since kindergarten, catches up to me, her breath coming in labored gasps.

“It’s yours.” She inhales and exhales with a dramatic flair. Her hand lands on her chest. “That apartment is yours.”

She takes a few more exaggerated breaths and says, “Calm down and stop walking like you’re practicing for the Boston Marathon.”

Megan is extremely positive, a little superstitious, very gullible, and loyal to a fault. We balance one another. I add the practical, reliable, grounded elements to our relationship while she brings the whimsy and levity.

“Trust me, if I were practicing for the Boston Marathon, you’d know it,” I assure Megan.

Running is my happy place. I’ve considered training for the famous Patriots Day race every year. Something always seems to come up that makes it impossible to devote the hours needed to prepare well. Maybe this will be my year to make the commitment. I want to run it before I’m thirty. But I don’t want to merely run it. I want to finish strong, make my PR … and most of all, beat Logan.

Logan Alexander.

The bane of my existence.

He’s also someone I’ve known since kindergarten. Only, unlike Megan, Logan has made it his mission to rip the rug out from under me at every turn. He seemed to show up at every cross country practice, science fair, and Future American Risk Takers (aka F.A.R.T.s) meeting I signed up for. I’d look around, and there Logan would be. He’d not only show up, he’d become team captain or win first place. And he was the president of the F.A.R.T.s. Not that you’d want to use that acronym on your resume, but still.

When I graduated from high school, I thought I would be free of Logan’s ominous, perfect, self-assured shadow. But as luck would have it, Logan applied to Boston University at the same time I did. We both happened to major in marketing, meaning he showed up in most of my classes, bending the curve with his top grade in the course, winning over the professor, being chosen as the TA. Logan graduatedsumma cum laude. I graduatedmagna cum laude, which sounds better, but is just a notch below—as always.

It’s as though Logan’s a deranged homing pigeon and I’ve got some sort of tracking device in me that screams “Home! Home! Home!”

Thankfully, after graduation, Logan took his marketing degree and his 4.0 GPA and secured a job in Boston while I came back to Serendipity Springs and landed my dream job with Barnes Marketing, far enough away from Logan to be able to make my mark in the world without being outshined and overshadowed at every turn.

I happened to see a post on his social media the other day announcing that he’s beginning to train for next year’s marathon. Of course he had to show a photo of himself all sweaty, checking his Garmin watch to share his personal record time. And yes, I still follow Logan’s socials. You would too if someone like Logan haunted you like an award-winning, overachieving ghost.

I don’t even have to tell you that the photo of him all sweaty from a run looked exactly like you’d imagine—as if he’d been hired by Nike to promote their new line of T-shirts in an ad campaign called “Hot, sweaty guy wears the bejeebers out of a gray T-shirt.” Logan can’t even perspire without looking amazing. It’s revolting. Truly. The man is perfect. And perfectly annoying. Just once I’d love to beat him at something. Not that I’d rub it in his face. I wouldn’t even gloat … much. Maybe just a teensy-weensy victory dance. That’s all. It would be so small. A little gloatette. A gloatina. A gloatsie. I’d gloat so quickly, you’d barely notice. And then I’d move on once and for all.

We turn the corner, and I see it:The Serendipity. I pause for a moment. Meg smacks right into my back.

“Oof. Pacing. We need to work on your pacing, Olivia.”

Our shared laughter overpowers the wave of emotions that hit me at the sight of my gran’s old building.

“Are you okay?” Megan asks me.

“Yeah. I am. I really am. You know I’m not one for all the woo-woo stuff, but this feels like destiny. I’d even go so far as to say this might be my lucky day.”

“Atta girl!” Megan says with her signature broad, easy smile. “I knew I’d bring you over to my side eventually. There’s more to life than what we see with our eyes.”

I shake my head. “Let’s not push it. I’m just saying I feel good about this. Then again, maybe it’s just the residual sugar high from the cinnamon roll you talked me into eating for breakfast.”

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