Page 40 of The Escape Plan

Her kind words and the small gesture seem intimate in a way that makes me feel strangely emotional. Like she’s sealing my worth with her touch.

“Guess you haven’t heard that Andrew and I broke up,” I say quietly, shifting my backpack on my shoulder.

Mr. Hathaway looks away so quickly, I first worry he’s going to tweak his neck. But then, it almost looks like he’s… hiding a smile?

When he turns back to me, though, there’s no hint of a smile on his face, leaving me wondering if I’m imagining things now. “Oh, yes, we were already aware of that. I think my wife was referring to?—”

“That fine specimen of an Irishman who’s moved in next door to her?” someone interrupts, and we all turn to see Roberta from the first floor standing next to us. Her eyes are eagerly glowing with the glee of an impending gossip session.

Honestly, this woman knows everything about everyone in this building. It’s impressive.

But everyone is clearly misinformed this time.

I shake my head vehemently. “Becks and I just?—”

“Got caught in a passionate embrace in the elevator?” Roberta asks with a big smile. “Started doing your laundry together? Went to hang out with your brother already?”

“None of those statements arequiteaccurate,” I start, but Mrs. Hathaway is patting my hand again.

“I think it’s lovely that new love is already blossoming for you,” she says softly.

“Oh, no, we just met?—”

“So, what are you waiting for?” Roberta shoots me a theatrical wink. “Lock down that delicious piece of man candy before someone else does. Anyhoo, got to run!” She waggles her fingers at us and continues across the lobby, heels clicking.

I turn back to the Hathaways and hold up my hands as if clearing my name. “Beckett’s just a friend and my temporary neighbor, as I’m sure you’ve heard. He’s only here for the summer.”

And then, he, like me, will be gone from this place. If all goes according to plan.

“A summer of love,” Mr. Hathaway says, clearly not hearing a word I’m saying.

I blanch at the L-word. I am officially allergic to love now. “Nope!”

“True love will show up exactly when and where it’s meant to,” Mrs. Hathaway adds, not listening to my protests either. “This place has a funny way of working things out the way they’re supposed to work out. Or not work out.”

She’s looking at me rather pointedly, and I wonder—not for the first time—if everyone but me believed Andrew and I were all wrong for each other and would eventually go our separate ways.

Which begs the question: how blind was I?

But Mrs. Hathaway’s words have struck another chord—though surely not the one she intended—as the topic of my article-to-be-written suddenly jumps to mind.

I take in the clearly still very-much-in-love couple before me, and I adopt my objective reporter persona.

If I’m going to stick with my ideal article topic—to disprove the legend that this building brings people luck in love—I might as well start with the Hathaways. They’re clearly a success story in the love department, but they’re also about a million years old. Surely they met and fell in love before they moved in here… which means that their love would have grown somewhere else organically, instead of being the product of a stupid “lucky in love” legend.

“Where did you two meet?” I ask.

Mr. Hathaway smiles. “We met right here in this building.”

My fragile hopes are dashed. “You don’t say,” I reply feebly.

Mr. Hathaway clearly doesn’t notice my disappointment, because he continues on excitedly, “We moved into The Serendipity after the apartments opened back in the sixties. We were living next door to each other upstairs when we fell in love.”

His wife tuts good-naturedly as she winks at me. “He’s conveniently leaving out the part where he didn’t even notice me until we got trapped in the elevator together…”

Her words startle me.

“Thiselevator?” I point in the direction of our building’s elevator, my thoughts rewinding to the tumble I almost took the day Beckett and I met. How he caught me before the elevator trapped us together.

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