Page 99 of My Lucky Charm

She shrugs. “It’s how I feel.”

It’s so easy for her to say how she feels. She must get that from her mom. “Okay, feelings aside, you need to understand that Eloise works for me. She gets the groceries and sets up appointments and runs errands. We aren’t a couple.”

She holds up a pointer finger without taking her eyes off the TV. “Yet.”

“No, kid,” I say. “We can’t be a couple because of her job.”

Her eyes dart to mine. “That’s dumb.”

On that point, we agree.

I shrug. “That’s the way it is.”

“Why can’t she do those things for you and be your wife?” she asks, showing her naiveté for maybe the first time since she got here.

“Whoa, now. My what?”

She shrugs. “She could take care of you. Like a wife.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that in just a few days, Eloise has completely won Scarlett over. That’s what she does. She told me that day on her porch that people like her, and I understand it now. It’s like her superpower.

I sit on the bed. “Scarlett. I think it’s awesome that you want someone to take care of me. I do. But . . . I’m fine. My life is good. I’ve got you, I’ve got the team . . . and that’s all I need.”

I’m starting to think that is a huge lie.

“Eloise is nice, but she’s just my assistant, okay? End of story.” Am I saying this for her benefit or because I need the reminder?

She shrugs. Since I’m pretty sure that’s as close to acceptance as I’m going to get, I mess up her hair and walk back into the bathroom. When I finish getting ready, I leave Scarlett in my room and walk barefoot to the kitchen, where I find Eloise standing with her back to me. She’s on the phone.

“Okay, Beth, thank you,” she says. “Right, it is good news—” Her eyes meet mine, but she quickly looks away. “I’ll do my best to convince him.”

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge as Eloise hangs up the phone. “What was that about?”

Eloise winces. “Well, I think it’s sort of amazing, but . . . you? Eh. Could go either way.”

I uncap the bottle and take a drink, knowing she’ll continue if I wait in silence long enough.

“First, I have something for you.” She walks over to the living room and picks up a large package, wrapped in brown paper.

I frown, setting the water bottle down. “A present?”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks away. “I told you I love to give gifts.”

She also told me she had a knack for knowing exactly what to get a person, which means, whatever’s in here, she thinks it’s perfect for me. Which means she was thinking about me. Which means—

She hands it to me across the counter. I hold it awkwardly, and she smirks.

“You gonna open it or just stand there holding it?”

“Uh—” I set it down on the counter. “Sorry, people don’t usually give me gifts.”

Her forehead pulls, and I can see her reading more into that than I want her to. “Ever?”

I evade the question. “I mean, how often do you get a grown man a present?” I say, turning the package over.

“It depends on the relationship, I guess,” she says. “And the man. I mean, if the man is sweet to people, he’ll probably get gifts all the time. But if he’s not—”

My eyes shoot to hers, interrupting her thought.

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