Page 34 of Caught A Vibe

True, we’ve been internet dating for a while, and that one night had been…magical… But this feels very fast, and now he has all but moved in without me even knowing. He’s literally been living in my space unattended for over a week! He’s been through my drawers to dress me. Oh God! Did he findthatdrawer? I mean, the MiO is my current fave, but I did a lot of market research… What must he be thinking?

I try to rally my filters so I don’t say something rude again, but I am struggling to keep it all straight. My utter exhaustion is not helping. “I’m glad you came when you did. I clearly needed the help, but this is all moving so fast. I don’t—”

He holds up a hand, and I stop.

“I’ll be honest. I did not expect to move in with you, but this virus put a spike in my plans. I’m not trying to push anything on you, and I will get my own place as soon as possible. But you clearly needed help, and I am not the kind of person to turn their back on a friend. Whatever else we may become, you’re my friend, Penny. Let me stay on your couch and help you until it’s safe for me to leave.”

Well, when he put it like that… “I’m not the kind of person to kick a friend out into the cold.”

“It’s LA. It’s never cold.”

“Smartass. But while you’re here we are just friends. No benefits, no pressure, none of that.”

“Deal. No offense, but I’m planning to drop your meals at your door since you’re conscious again.”

“How did you even get food? My fridge was practically empty.”

“I found an app that delivers. I’ve got enough to see us through the next week or so. I’m not a gourmet chef or anything, but you won’t starve.”

“I can’t taste anything anyway, so not starving is literally the bar.”

He chuckles and heads for my bedroom door. He turns back at the threshold. “Thanks, Penny, for letting me stay. I know it’s awkward as hell, and we didn’t plan on any of this, but I’m glad I was able to be here for you.”

I want to put my hand on his forearm, or even lean in for a hug, but I stay where I am on the bed and he lingers safely six feet away in my doorway. While my independent streak is pitching a fit, my logical problem-solving brain concedes I’d have been in real trouble if he hadn’t come when he did. Yes, it’s awkward, but I’m grateful under my grouchiness.

“I’m glad you came.”

Chapter9

Penny

Iclose my laptop and toss it to the end of the bed, frustrated and tired. My team is trying really hard but there are no easy answers. Or any answers at all, really. They are all stuck at home too and I’m trying to run meetings from my sickbed. All of the unknowns weigh heavy on my shoulders along with a head that feels like it’s full of lead.

On the one hand, it’s great so many people want to preorder our product now that they’re stuck at home. On the other, it’s super stressful that I don’t have firm timelines for when we’ll be getting those units in or when we’ll be able to ship them out again.

I keep teetering between hope and despair.

Add to it the exhaustion and brain fog and… What was I doing? It doesn’t matter.

I flop back on my pillow, not caring if my silk blouse wrinkles. It only had to look good for that meeting, and I’m too sore to take it off. My flannel sleep pants complete the outfit as I slide farther under the covers. Even just sitting up and talking, trying to make sense of my employees’ reports, has made me sleepy again. My eyelids weigh five pounds each.

I think the worst part is that I can’t turn to any of my usual stress relief activities, so it’s just building up to critical mass inside me. I can’t clean or organize. I can’t plan. I can’t fuck. I’m so exhausted, the MiO is too much right now. I can barely breathe let alone run. I’d walk if I was allowed to go outside.

Even the puzzle I started is too much. Instead of calming me down, it’s stressing me out. I started crying while finding the edge pieces. All I can do is sleep and worry, and it’s making me cranky.

My phone rings in my hand. I forgot I was still holding it, my lifeline to the outside world. It’s Dash, calling me from the living room.

In some ways, going back to video calls with him has been great. I feel like we’re back in our separate apartments, chatting our evenings away. It’s blessedly normal, until he shifts the camera and I remember he’s not at home. He’s on my couch, and my apartment is a mess.

“Hello, beautiful. What do you want for dinner tonight? I can make pasta or heat up a can of soup.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I can’t even muster the energy to care. All of my hard work, my hustle for funding, my triumph in the media over T-Con, all of that momentum is slipping away into this sea of uncertainty, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

“We offer only the very finest in cuisine here at Chez Maxwell. Every shelf-stable staple is here for your convenience. Simply say the word.”

I know he’s just trying to help, but I’m fighting back tears and I really don’t care. If I open my mouth I’m going to cry.

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