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“I couldn’t have you sneaking back in and marrying snake boy.” He purses his lips like he wants to add something, but then he says, “Take it easy,” and shuts the door.

The driver asks if I’m ready. I face forward and start to answer until the door swings open.

“I need you to give me your number.” The guy sticks his head in, phone in hand.

“Youneed?”

He nods, eyebrows drawn together like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Need.” He pulls off my sunglasses and tosses them on the seat beside me. He’s staring into my eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I can’t right now.”

“What could you possibly need to say later that you can’t say now?”

“Something that doesn’t feel right saying until we’ve both taken a shower. Please. One text, and I’ll delete your number.”

I laugh because it makes no sense, and he smiles, holding out his phone. After a second, I sigh and take it. “One message,” I say, adding my number to his contacts under the name Angel. “If you send more, I’m blocking you.”

“All I need is one.”

The pink sticky note showsup from halfway down our hallway. It hangs eye-level on our apartment door. Keaton calls them mini-mems, short for miniature memos, and uses them whenever I let my phone die. To be fair, it happens with me more often than most people. She writes down what she wants to text me and posts it to whatever surface is closest. It’s one of those quirks that’s endearing as hell. I unlock the dead bolt as I read it.

Your phone’s dead again.

I find another on the other side of the door.

I can’t believe you bailed so early.

The way she and her boyfriend were all over one another, it surprises me she noticed me leaving the bar at all.

One on the table where we keep our keys.

Liam’s hot cousin showed up just after you left. Some skanky bitch was all over him.

I grab the water bottle from the fridge with one stuck on the label.

Dammit Bennett. That skanky bitch should have been you!

The cousin moved back from LA a few days ago. She convinced herself if we met, the four of us would have a joint wedding, raise our kids in a cul-de-sac, and all be buried under an apple tree together. A sweet thought but far from how I envision my life going.

The pile of pink on a couch pillow surrounded by used tissues hints she squeezed in a movie before passing out.

Julia Roberts should star opposite Kate Hudson in a love story.

They’d make a beautiful couple.

So would we.

Marry me?

On her bedroom door.

Don’t die before me.

Swear!

She’s lying facedown on top of her comforter. I pull off her shoes, cover her up, and pull the note off her cheek.

I love you.

“You too, crazy woman.” I leave the door open a crack, so she knows I’m home, and I space out in the shower before crashing onto my bed.

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