“Better get busy living, or get busy dying,” he says.
“That’s the one.” I grin. The high-pitched ambulance siren blaring down the street draws our attention then, and the big white box arrives with flashing red and blue lights, pulling up to the emergency entrance of the hospital. Ian tosses his trash in a nearby can.
“Well, that’s my cue,” he says. “Work calls. Thanks for lunch, man.” He shrugs into his jacket. “What are you up to this afternoon?”
“I’m going to drop by Sora’s place. See if she needs anything.” The bee text made me hopeful she might be up for company.
Ian clucks his tongue in disapproval. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“No. But she did sprain her ankle. She might need soup or something.”
“Soup is for colds.” Ian rolls his eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
“What I think you mean is you’re hoping for another pity kiss.”
I DM Sora to let her know I’m in her neighborhood. Just your friendlyHey, let me know if you need anythingDM.Or, if you want an impromptu game of Pictionary that you will definitely win, I’m ready and able.
She pings me back instantly.
Pictionary is a yes, but only if alcohol is involved, because I only think I can draw when I’m drunk. And… maybe ibuprofen? I’m out! I’ll pay you back.
I typeThe first bottle of ibuprofen is free. Second will cost you.
I head to a drugstore near her condo, grab an industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen, and as I do, I see the Valentine’s aisle. I glance around at the fancy cream-filled chocolates in big red heart-shaped boxes and wonder if they have an “I Hate Valentine’s Day” assortment. Flavors? Bitter Lemon. Dark Chocolate of Despair. Forever Single Strawberry. Never Getting In My Bed Buttercream?
Maybe chocolates aren’t such a bad idea. Besides, thanks to Valentine’s Day being this week, they’re on sale. Buy one, get one 50 percent off. I think she needs at least two. Plus, okay, didn’t she have a dog? I could get her that dog toy, the one at the end of the aisle that has the big plush heart with the white hands and feet. Maybe watching her pit-mix tear into it will amuse her?
I grab the chocolates and dog toy along with an impulse-buy purchase of a bottle of red wine.
Outside, the sun has slunk beyond the horizon, even though it’s not yet 4P.M. Welcome to winter in Chicago. In less than a block, I’m standing at the buzzer of her vintage apartment building. The outer door has a full-length window, showing the silver mailboxes, and it’s big enough for someone to have left their bike.
I hit the buzzer next toReid.
I wait. A cold February chill whips up, swirling the patch of snow by my feet. I shiver as I hear Sora’s voice crackling through the speaker.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Uh. It’s me. Jack. I’ve got that ibuprofen!”
“Oh! Yes!”
The buzzer sounds. A bleating-goat call from heaven. I shake off the shock and grab the front door and swing it open.
I kick snow from my black boots on the rug then head up the stairs to her place. I get to her door and knock gently.
I hear frantic scurrying around inside, and a dog’s unmistakable bark, and then what sounds like the opening and shutting of a cabinet or door and mumbled curses. Then she swings open the door looking flushed and slightly sweaty, wearing her long, dark hair up in a high ponytail, her faded blue T-shirt not doing much of a job covering her black leggings. She’s got fuzzy socks on, and it looks like her ankles are almost the same size. She grins and her brown eyes meet mine, bright and happy. Right then, I am very, very glad I came. She eyes the bags in my hands with surprise.
“I… got more than just ibuprofen. Figured you might need some chocolate. Or wine. Especially if we’re busting out the Pictionary.”
She hesitates a moment, glancing at the bags. Crap. Did I overstep? But the texts were flirty. Or so I thought. Am I misreading everything again? Then I realize she’s laser-focused on the heart-shaped boxes of chocolate. “You brought Valentine’s chocolate.”
“You said no one has bought chocolates for you before and that’s a crime. I mean, you can burn it if you want. But it’s the good kind.” I nod at the brand. “Or we could also just have wine instead.” I offer up the bottle. She blinks fast, still confused.
“You brought all this. For me.”
“And this—” I grab the plush dog toy from the bottom of the bag. “For your rescue dog.”
