Page 43 of The Escape Plan

“Don’t you enjoy, you know, sleeping? Or are you more of a nocturnal creature?”

Her face falters for a moment before she says, “Andrew lives right upstairs from me. I can’t sleep when I hear multiple footsteps at night because I know Lisa’s up there with him.”

“I cannot imagine my ex living upstairs from me. That sounds like torture.”

“It’s…actually more annoying than torture-y. Strangely.” She frowns, her expression thoughtful.

“You don’t miss him as much as you thought you might?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She picks at her fingernail, eyes lowered. “I mean, it’s never nice to see—or hear—your ex moving on, but honestly, their footsteps can beloud.” She shoots me a little smile. “Though, I do think it’s more habit at this point to go out on the fire escape than it is necessity to escape the footsteps. I always do my best thinking and article outlining out there.”

“Ah, yes, for the job in Boston,” I say without thinking.

She looks up sharply. “I don’t recall telling you the job was in Boston.”

My cheeks heat a little. “Your brother told me,” I admit.

“You and Ezra were talking about me.” She says this as a statement, not a question, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“We were.” I’m unable—or maybe unwilling—to keep the flirtatious note out of my voice. Because despite what might be all my best instincts, I have just realized right this second that ripped jeans and Converse sneakers are my kryptonite. “All about how you meddled to try to get me to play the Indie Music Night.”

She grins, totally unashamed. “It worked, though, didn’t it? He told me you’ll be playing.”

“He also said that if I play something Irish, you’ll lead the crowd in an Irish dance routine,” I add, just for badness.

Her mouth drops open, her expression delightfully stunned, before her shrewd eyes narrow. She points an accusing finger at me. “Liar.”

“If I say ‘please’ can I make it be true?”

She snorts. “Not in a million, billion years am I dancing in public. Or dancing at all. I’m not the dancing type.”

I want to tell her that, on the contrary, her eyes are currently dancing, but I refrain. Because boundaries.

“Pity,” I say instead, “In my mind, you were line-dancing up a storm in full cowgirl getup.”

Which somehow sounds equally as boundary-pushing as what I wanted to say.

She reddens, shifting from foot to foot as she says, “Well, I’d better be going. Have to hit the library to work on my article.”

“How’s that going?”

She sighs. “I liked your idea of trying to disprove the legend, but so far, I’ve only encountered happy stories of love in this place, save for my own experience. And if I base the whole thing on my own breakup, it’s going to come across as petty. Too personal to be a proper opinion piece. So, I’m a bit stuck… but I’ll figure it out.”

Keeley steps back and reaches for the door handle. Turns it.

“Oh. You’vegotto be kidding me,” she mumbles, turning it harder.

The door doesn’t budge.

She spins to look back at me, her face a mask of total disbelief.

Meanwhile, I can barely hide my smile. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

Chapter Sixteen

Keeley

“There must besome reasonable explanation for this,” I say as I jerk the door handle, rattling it harder than I’m already rattled.

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