Page 8 of With Any Luck

I wince, because yeah, that makes sense.

Theo gives me a judgmental look. “Sugar holes?”

“Doughnut holes,” I clarify.

“Doughnut holes.”

“Yes.”

There was a dive bar down by the college we went to, and a Krispy Kreme right beside it, so Rhett and I would get drunk off our asses on Thursday nights and stumble over to get sober on doughnut holes and cheap coffee.

“OK.” He scratches his chin, frowning. “So ... where are thesedoughnut holes?”

I open my mouth. Close it again. Frown.

The bartender says, “The only place in town is the twenty-four-hour convenience store half a mile down on the left. They sell those little doughnut hole things—”

-Last Night-

The exit sign glowed red above us as I pushed on the door with my back, and it opened into a well-lit alley. Rhett ran after me, laughing that we still had to pay the tab. The patrons were halfway through theLegally Blondealbum, and I was sure we’d make it back by the “Bend and Snap” number. But first: sugar holes. The sand-speckled sidewalk sparkled in the moonlight, the streetlights bright, the winter night frigid as the eve of Valentine’s Day always is.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married onV-Day. I’ll never let you live it down,” I proclaimed.

“All the better to never forget it,” he replied, wrapping his scarf tightly around him. His tawny skin was speckled with darker freckles, black hair thick and eyelashes long, something his mother always said came from their Italian side, while his love for everything spicy came from his Korean grandfather. Over the last ten years, I’d seen women fall over themselves just to get a night with Rhett Song. He was a catch if I’d ever met one. Brilliant and polite, and if the rumors were true, fucking amazing in bed. Carmilla was a lucky girl.

I said as much as we walked to find our sugar holes.

“Yeah, I know. But ... can I tell you a secret? I don’t know if I want this,” he lamented, pulling his fingers through his short hair. He’d gotten it cut for the wedding, but I missedit when it was shoulder-length and always pulled back into a bun. “It’s all too much. It’s scary. And she’s perfect. And I feel like she’ssettlingfor me. She deserves so much more. Someone who gives a shit about this wedding.”

That surprised me. “You don’t want to get married?”

“Yes! No, I don’t know.” And he looked up at the sky. “I want to spend the rest of mylifewith her. I don’t care about the rest.”

Even drunk, with the world spinning around us—forus—when no one else in the world mattered, I hesitated in my response. Because even with salt crusting my tongue and my ears ringing from the bar, I knew this was the beginning of goodbye. The kind that, because you loved, you let go.

I said, “I have an idea, I think.”

-Now-

I’m out of Ye-Haute before the bartender finishes speaking, and it’s only on the next block that Theo catches up to me in a jog. I’m so nervous, my hands are tightly curled into fists, my chest so tense it hurts. My heels make sharp clicks against the sidewalk as I increase my speed to a jog toward the convenience store. I know I won’t find him there, but I hope anyway.

I asked him to kiss me, didn’t I? I must have. It was a simple solution to his problem, and I was just drunk enough not to think about the repercussions. It was a surefire way to find out if Carmilla is the love of his life.

The convenience store is fresh out of doughnut holes, and the clerk working today was off the three days prior, so he has no idea who Rhett is or where he’s gone. And we only have an hour and some change left before the wedding.

It all feels hopeless, even as I call his phone again. It goes straight to voice mail. I can’t remember the last time he sent me straight to voice mail.

Never, perhaps.

We duck into Java Script, a coffee shop down the street, because I need somewhere to sit and let my stomach settle. The last dredges of a hangover have turned me green, or at least that’s what I tell Theo.

In reality, it’s the panic.

I try to call him again, but nothing. My phone is running on 10 percent battery, and all of my texts come back asUndelivered. Worse than meeting the love of his life, what if he’sdead? I’m kicking myself for not OK’ing his GPS so I could locate him with an app. While it felt creepy yesterday, it would save me a lot of trouble today.

I wonder if Rhett hates me now. I wonder how much Carmilla will.

“You look like you just swallowed a bee,” Theo comments, setting a to-go cup of coffee down in front of me.

---