Page 39 of The Escape Plan

I frown at the mention of his name. “What’s the deal with that Andrew guy, anyway?”

“They dated for ages, but their relationship always felt… off to me.” Ezra’s eyes darken. “Like something didn’t quite fit.”

“Oh?” I ask, trying not to look as keen for details as I feel.

“I think he was just the wrong person for her, and she was trying to make it right for so long that it was habit by the end. After they broke up, she seemed to wake up and consider what she really wants. I feel like he was holding her back in a lot of ways.”

I remember what she said about the article she had to write to get her dream job, and I lean forward, curious to know more about Keeley’s plans. “Holding her back career-wise?”

“Yeah. Partly. I was happy when she told me she was applying for a job in Boston. It’ll be a fresh start for her.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize the job was in Boston.”

For some reason, the thought of her moving away makes me feel… strange. Just for a moment, until I snap back to reality and remember that in a few short weeks, I’ll be leaving, too, and we won’t be neighbors anymore.

Ezra’s blue eyes—so like Keeley’s—are steady on me. “You like her, don’t you?” he asks bluntly.

I swallow. Consider the question.

Idofind myself drawn to Keeley in a way that I’m not used to feeling. But I barely know the woman. And when I go back to Ireland, how I feel about her—or don’t feel about her—will be an entirely moot point.

“We’re just friends,” I reply firmly.

“Uh-huh,” he counters with a twinkle in his eye, like he very much doesn’t believe me.

A twinkle that makes me question if I even believe what I’m saying myself.

Chapter Fourteen

Keeley

“Wow,don’t you look nice, dearie. Got a date with that handsome boy?”

I look up to see a smiling, well-meaning Mrs. Hathaway approaching me in the lobby. I’ve just come downstairs with the intention of holing up in the Spring View library for the rest of the day and working on some elementary outlining for my Evoke article.

“There’s a twinkle in your eye that suggests so!” Mr. Hathaway is next to his wife, one hand supportively placed under her elbow and the other wrapped around his cane. He’s wearing his trademark bowler hat, like always, while his wife sports what looks like a fresh lilac rinse.

These two are the cutest.

The couple have got to be approaching their nineties, if not there already. They both have deeply lined faces, stooped postures, and move slowly and carefully, like something could break at any moment. But despite this, there’s something incredibly, unfathomably youthful about them. Like there’s a light glowing from within, reflecting through their eyes and making them appear younger than they are.

The Hathaways are longtime residents of The Serendipity. In fact, they must be the oldest people living here, and they seem to know every tenant by name. You can often spot them in the rooftop garden together, or sitting by the pool together, or reading in the small library room on the building’s ground floor… together.

Come to think of it, I’ve never seen one Hathaway without the other. And I must say, even with my current boycotting feelings towards love, it is pretty darn inspiring to see how in love they still seem to be after a lifetime spent together.

“Oh, no, no. No date. Just…” I look down at my fitted purple shirt with the sweetheart neckline, and my cute light wash jeans with ripped details, then back up at Mrs. Hathaway. “Wednesday,” I finish.

What I don’t say is that it’s been a few days now since my almost-death by running. Each morning since that impromptu and very sweaty grocery store run, I’ve carefully planned my outfit so there will be absolutely zero risk of running into my new friend Becks again in yet another state of chaotic disarray.

And yes, I might’ve done my hair and put on mascara and lip gloss, too.

But just because I wanted to feel pretty today, that’s all.

I mean, I haven’t actuallyseenBeckett since we went to Spring Foods together. I’ve heard the sounds of him softly playing guitar in the mornings, the musical notes carrying from his apartment. But if I happento run into him today—or get locked in a confined space with him—while I look presentable, then so be it.

Super weird how that keeps happening. I think the universe genuinely likes to laugh at me.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Hathaway does not seem satisfied by my response to her question. Instead she smiles like she’s sure I’m wrong and I reallydohave a date, after all. She pats my hand, her wrinkled skin cool to the touch. “He’s a lucky man.”

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