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A car turns down my street and I perk up, hoping it’s the courier, but he passes right by.
“What were you doing before I called you?” he asks.
“Power napping,” I admit sheepishly. “I had plans to be more productive, but I fell asleep before I got around to actually doing anything.”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept a full eight hours, let alone took a nap during the day.”
“You should try it. You’re getting bags under your eyes,” I tease.
“I’ll stick to caffeine. I feel like I’ve never needed much sleep. At Caltech, my buddy and I would go stretches where we slept on pallets in the computer lab. We’d wake up, code, eat, code, sleep, and shower in the gym on campus when we couldn’t stand the stench any longer.”
That sounds horrible.
“Why?”
“We were building BioWear. There wasn’t time for anything else.”
“But now your company is successful,” I point out. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying the fruits of your labor?”
He chuckles like the idea is completely preposterous. “Now I have even less time than I did then. I believe a wise 20th-century poet said it best: mo’ money, mo’ problems.”
I laugh and the hinges on his chair squeal again. There are footsteps and then the sound of ice clinking against glass. He’s sitting in his office, pouring himself a drink. He should go home, but why would he? It’s not like there’s anything better waiting for him there. The thought is almost too much to bear, so I come up with a simple solution.
“I think you should get a pet.”
He laughs. “A pet?”
“Yeah, like a dog or a hamster. Something to keep you company.”
“A hamster.” Another laugh. I can practically see him rubbing his brow and giving in to the conversation. “I don’t have time for a pet.”
“What about a fish?” I ask. “You could put it in a gigantic tank in that empty house of yours and just swim around with it in SCUBA gear.”
A white delivery truck turns onto my street. His headlights flash across me and I jump to my feet, waving him over. “Wait, I think my bike is here!”
“I’ll let you go then.”
He sounds disappointed, and I am too. I’d like to stay on the phone with him the rest of the night. I’d like to be the one to coax him out of his loneliness, but that’s not in the cards for us.
“James?”
“Yeah?”
The sadness in his tone eats away at me.
“Thanks for calling,” I say, hoping he deciphers everything left unsaid.
He pauses before replying, “Thanks for answering.”
By the time I hang up, the delivery truck has pulled up in front of the curb, and I watch as a tall skinny guy hops out with a clipboard in hand.
“Brooke Davenport?”
“That’s me.”
He nods and then I watch as he pops open the back doors and wheels my new bike down the ramp and onto the sidewalk. I was expecting something similar to what I had, but this is one of those fancy bikes I’ve always dreamed about owning one day. Even better, it’s the same color as my bookshelf: sunflower yellow. I beam.
“I’ve never seen a bike this color before,” I say, stepping forward to brush my hand across the polished body.
He shrugs. “Had to pick it up from a paint shop this afternoon.”
My stomach knots into a tight ball. There’s the answer I was seeking earlier. No one takes the time to get a bike custom painted out of guilt. No, this is something special.
The next day, I force Ellie to drive me to a pet shop and then to James’ office downtown. He’s in a meeting, so I leave the goldfish with Beth, along with fish food and a note.
This is Harry. He needed a friend. Take good care of him! XO, Brooke.PS I love the yellow.CHAPTER THIRTEENTwo weeks later, Ellie and I are changing out of our work clothes in the employee locker room at Twin Oaks. I’m sweaty and hot from working in the cabana during the peak of summer. Ellie is annoyingly fresh-faced and beautiful from her shift working the lunch service.
“Here…can I just—”
Sweet-smelling mist hits the back of my head, and I turn to find Ellie holding her body spray at arm’s length with one hand while pinching her nose closed with the other. She spritzes me again.
“Stop Febreezing me like I’m a sofa!”
“You stink!”
I reach forward to try to slap the bottle out of her hand, but she drops it back into her locker with a gloating smile.
“Well it’s like a million degrees out at the cabana and some old geezer spilled his Bloody Mary on me. I get it, I smell like a frat party.”
“Well now you smell like Strawberry Breeze,” she announces proudly.
I glare at her before turning back to finish changing into my workout clothes.
“Need a ride home?”
