Page 122 of Right Number, Wrong Man
“I don’t care about finding me some nice woman. I’d rather find me ayou—and there’s just one Hailey.”
She giggles. “Very funny. I always thought you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
My chest aches. I’m part relieved, part hurt that my word vomit didn’t end up as an accidental confession, but her talk about marriage is my cue to broach the topic of her love life.
“What about you then?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“Are you seeing a new guy? You’re too young and too beautiful to stay a widow. Nobody would blame you if you wanted to date again.”
Hailey blows a raspberry. “Oh, I don’t know. My first attempt ended up in almost getting my eyes plucked out by a serial killer, so I’d say that’s not a promising start.”
“Fair enough. But I’d call that incident an anomaly.What are the chances of you dating two murderers in a row?”
“Given my bad luck with men? Probably higher than you think.”
She ain’t wrong. TechnicallyIam a murderer, too. With my body count, one could even call me a very prolific, legal serial killer cause most of my targets were government sanctioned.
Except the last two, of course.
Hailey sighs. “Thinking about it, I’ve never really dated because Mike was my first boyfriend. I’m so out of my depth being thirty and new to the scene.” She shifts again, this time with a heavier, frustrated movement.
I grit my teeth. For the millionth time, I want to tell her that Mike wasn’t her first, but I gotta focus and steer the conversation toward her secret lover.
I hum like I’m pondering something serious. “Well, what did youlikeabout your relationship with Mike? Might be a starting point what to look for, y’know?”
She sighs again. “It’s complicated. Being with Mike was like being in a relationship with two different men. He was so cold in person, but maybe our love languages were just really different? He did those cute little things for me sometimes, and I wonder if that was his way of showing that he cared.”
My heart nearly stops. “What cute things?”
“When I still worked as a secretary, he sent me a coffee and a raspberry muffin every Monday morning. And I never spent a birthday without a bouquet of pink peonies delivered to my doorstep.”
“That was me,” I blurt out.
My life flashes before my eyes and I can’t even blame the alcohol. Hailey has this effect on me when I’m stone-sober, too. She makes me forget myself.
The mattress bounces as she shoots upright. “I don’t understand.”
FUCK.
My throat closes. I hope I’m experiencing spontaneous anaphylaxis on account of my own stupidity so I can bow out with some dignity left. Regrettably, I’m alive to face the consequences of my loose tongue.
“What are you saying?” she asks again.
Nope. I’m done for. There’s no covering this up now.
“The muffins and the coffee and the flowers… uh…” I stammer. “I sent them, scheduling deliveries months in advance so my missions wouldn’t interrupt them. And while we’re at it…” I swallow hard, bracing myself. “The Wraithface plush you got for your eighteenth birthday?Iwon it at the arcade and left it at your door. Not Mike.”
“But… but how do you know all that about me? And why?” she asks softly.
My head tilts. She doesn’t sound mad, just surprised.
“Cause I listen, Spitfire. I was always around when we were kids, an unwanted ghost hovering outside your friend group, but I paid attention. And why? Cause you deserve to feel appreciated.”
Hailey snickers and I think I’m going crazy. Maybe we both are.
“Is it bad that I’m relieved?” she asks.
