Page 70 of The Escape Plan

“Whoops.”

I smile. “C’mon, McTipsy. Let’s get you home.”

It’s a beautiful, balmy night, and the four of us decide to walk the two miles to The Serendipity under the stars.

Cash throws an arm around Nori, pulling her close. And as we set off, fingers brush against my hand—almost tentatively, like they’re asking a question.

A question there’s only one answer to.

My heart picks up as our fingers thread together, intertwining seamlessly.

It’s the perfect end to a perfect night.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Beckett

“Just a second!”

Keeley’s voice carries through the closed door of her apartment and into the hallway, and I step backwards, putting a foot of space between me and the door. You know, so I don’tlooktoooverly keen.

Not that that particular ship hasn’t already sailed.

To be fair, I am five minutes early. I’m dressed in the smartest outfit I could find in my suitcase, and I’m holding a bottle of wine.

Oh, and a potted plant.

I was leaning towards getting a cheerful bunch of yellow and orange flowers, but the cashier at the store reckoned a houseplant was a better gesture to say, “Thank you for having me for dinner.”

He was very persuasive, apparently, because here I am. Plant and all.

The door flies open, and Keeley’s standing there, grinning a tad sheepishly. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, holding an eyeliner pencil, and her hair is gathered sloppily in a claw clip.

And she honestly looks incredible, just like that.

“Sorry, this will likely take longer than one literal second.” She gestures down at herself. “But come on in…”

She trails off as her eyes sweep over me, taking in my lightweight black bomber jacket, ironed t-shirt, and dark jeans. And, finally, the plant.

“For Mae,” I explain, holding out the wine bottle in my other hand. “In case she doesn’t like wine.”

An indecipherable expression flits over Keeley’s features, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve made some kind of error.

But then, she smiles. It’s a big, broad, sunshine-y smile that transforms her pretty face. It’s a specific smile I haven’t seen her wear before. One I can only think she doesn’t offer over nothing.

“You’re so thoughtful,” she says almost shyly, blushing a little as she steps aside, gesturing for me to come inside.

As I walk into her apartment, she holds up a finger and darts into what I assume is her bedroom, leaving me alone to take in her space.

It’s the first time I’ve been in here, and I set down my wine and plant on the counter so I can soak it all in. Fairy lights are strung haphazardly across the ceiling over a small white couch covered in throw pillows. A messy desk with mugs full of colored pencils and a board covered in colorful post-it notes sits below the window, the laptop on it open to the Evoke website. There’s a furry blue rug and a Banksy print on the wall and stacks upon stacks of books on the coffee and side tables.

The room is filled with an eclectic, splashy mix of oddities that somehow all come together to feel exactly likeher.

It makes me wonder how long she’s lived here and if she’s going to miss it when she goes.

And I saywhen—notif—because I’ve read some (all) of her content on the Serendipity Springs town website. She’s a brilliant writer, and I have complete faith she will score this new job.

As if on cue, there’s the thud of footsteps upstairs, and I remember why she wanted to escape in the first place.

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