Page 73 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

I nod.

“So, you’re training for next year’s marathon?” she asks.

“I am. How did you know?”

“I just … figured.”

“Are you sure you aren’t stalking my socials, Pennington?”

“I’m not stalking. As if.” She scoffs and then takes another bite. After she chews, swallows, and hums a little sound of satisfaction, she says, “I did check out your social media. After all, you work in marketing, and you’re supposedly a digital specialist. I had to see if you’re worth your salt.”

She totally stalked my socials. That seed of hope planted during our dance starts to grow microscopic roots.

“Yeah. I’m training. Are you?” I ask.

“Not officially.”

“You should … if you want to, that is. You could totally run it.”

“I … might. We’ll see.”

“Have you ever run a marathon?”

“No. Only mud runs and halves. Nothing as long as a marathon—yet.”

We talk about running a little more while we finish our food, and then Rhett demands attention, which Olivia gladly gives him. I show her where I store his food, and she feeds him while I wash the dishes.

Olivia’s curled comfortably on my couch with Rhett fully snuggled up in her lap when I come out of the kitchen.

“Do you want to grab anything from your place?”

“I honestly can sleep in the dark. Maybe I should just buck up and make do at my own apartment.”

I don’t answer her for a beat. “It might be challenging getting ready in morning with no electricity. Plus there’s that whole trickle shower …”

She eyes me for a minute. “I guess it might be better …”

“I’ll get my room ready for you.”

She stares at me and then she says, “Okay. I’ll just go grab my toothbrush and some things.”

“And then we can stay up late and braid one another’s hair and make homemade face masks.”

Olivia smiles and then twists her lips to the side and raises her brows. “Don’t push your luck, Alexander.”

“Never, Pennington.”

“Riiiggght.” She walks out my door.

Rhett looks up at me with the most forlorn look on his face.

“She’ll be back, buddy. Don’t go messing this up, okay?”

Rhett’s expression says we both know who would definitely be the one to mess this up. Spoiler alert: It’s not my dog.

He sits at my feet. I bend and scruff his head. “You’re a good boy. You can even sleep with her if she lets you.”

By the time Olvia comes back, I’ve taken what I need out of my room so she doesn’t feel awkward. I’ve made the couch into a decent enough bed. Not that I care. I’d sleep on the coffee table if it meant giving her a place to stay tonight.

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