Page 39 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

A small, clear wrapper catches my eye next to the coffee pot. It’s near the wall, tucked away from plain sight but not so far back that I wouldn’t have seen it when I wiped the counters after Megan left. How did I miss that cookie?

I pick it up and hold it in my hand.

Megan must have left this from our takeout. I thought they only sent two cookies. We ate them and read our fortunes aloud …. They were rather generic, as usual. Mine said,Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.Megan’s said,You are kind and friendly.She laughed and then she said, “I want a do-over. That was a lame fortune.”

Wouldn’t she have grabbed another cookie if there had been one?

I guess not, since I’m holding this one right now.

I tear open the cellophane and crack the cookie in half, setting the two crisp, beige pieces on my counter and tugging out the paper fortune.

I read it aloud even though no one is listening. “Nothing’s fishier than a woman who doesn’t admit her true feelings.”

What on earth?

I read it again and then drop the paper, letting it flutter to the ground. Fishy? What’s the likelihood I’d get a fortune about something being fishy the morning after Megan arranged a delivery of expired fish as a prank? And I admit my feelings. If anything, I’m prone to be far too vocal about them—at least with my family, friends, and coworkers I’ve known for years.

Crazy cookie.

Nothing’s fishier than a woman who doesn’t admit her true feelings.

“You know what’s fishy?” I tell the slip of paper at my feet. “You. You are fishy.”

I wad up the fortune and throw the whole cookie in the trash. I half expect it to jump back out and reassemble itself. But when I glance over my shoulder at my kitchen trash, the pieces all lay there like the inanimate random objects they are.

I walk backward out of my kitchen, leaving the remnants of the cookie and the paper safely in the trash while I head out for my run.

I don’t see Logan on my run. I don’t see him when I leave for work. But as I fling open the door to the Barnes building, rushing in because I’m a few minutes late and we’re meeting with the team from Untethered this morning, I nearly slam into Logan’s back.

“Good morning, Pennington,” he says without turning around from his spot just inside the doorway.

“Alexander.”

He walks forward, and I step around him, heading to the elevators at nearly twice my usual speed. I hear his footfalls pick up pace behind me. I don’t exactly speed walk, but I keep my head high and stride quickly enough to make it to the control panel first. I push the up button. The elevator doesn’t come right away, so Logan and I stand side by side, staring at the door, saying nothing.

When the light over the elevator hits one, the doors open. Logan stands back.

“Ladies first,” he says.

His voice is a touch deeper than usual, still raspy from lack of use in the early hours of the day.

“Since when do you let me go first?” I ask.

“There’s a first time for everything, Pennington. Now get on the elevator so we can meet our client.”

“Bossy,” I mumble.

He hums an infuriatingly pompous, “Hmm.”

Only Logan can actually make the most innocuous sound resonate with unnecessary pride.

I step onto the elevator. He follows behind me, hitting the four on the panel. The door shuts, leaving us secluded together, our situation underscored by all four mirrored walls. As usual, Logan takes up more than his fair share of space. Some people command attention. He’s one.

Logan catches my eye in our reflection in the silver doors.

And he grins just the slightest.

“Did you run this morning?” I ask him as the doors slide open.

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