Her attention shifts to the door, where two girls slip into the room carrying lunch boxes and a bulldozer of a boy barrels in after them. Bridget stands and singsongs, “Reading corner! Everybody head to the reading corner!”
Her smile evaporates as she turns to me. “You don’t need a plan, Ruby. You need a breather. Stress isn’t helping your cause, okay? You need to stop worrying about the time MASH-ine and have a little fun.”
I glare at her, unmoved. “How long have you been holding in that joke?”
“All week,” she says, ignoring my eye roll. “Trust me: I’ll handle everything. I still have the decorations from that luau, and—”
“Bridget, I really don’t have time for a party.”
“Nope.” She raises a finger. “I won’t hear it. You didn’t buy a mansion with two pools just to look at them.”
“I didn’t actually buy a mansion at all. Remember?”
“Okay, fine,” she concedes. “But the more spontaneous version of you didn’t buy that place just to sit in it and sulk, and that’s the version of you that I know. So we’re having a party.”
I stare. She stares back, unyielding. “Bite me,” I mutter.
Bridget smiles sweetly. “Sounds like someone’s already got that covered.”
A snot-covered kid tugs at her skirt, and I watch in horror as he wipes his nose with it. “That’s my cue,” I say, moonwalking away from the human typhoid.
“Just think on the bright side,” Bridget stage-whispers. “At least you picked zero kids.”
I shudder.
I need to count my MASH blessings.
Outside, it’s started to rain, so I hustle through the parking lot and all but collapse into the Jeep. Scrolling through my phone, I accept a PENBY calendar invitation for the DD Logistics Meeting this afternoon and respond to Ryan’s many inquiries about the “cute redhead” we saw leaving the mansion yesterday. I tell him that her surprise appearance was a “work thing,” knowing full well he won’t buy it.
I feel lighter as I start the car and turn up the radio. Yes, I’m still stuck, but I’m making progress on multiple fronts. And right now I’m off to meet Connor, whose business instincts I trust entirely. No matter that he upended my real future—in any universe, Connor’s good at his job. Once we talk, I’m sure I’ll have an inkling as to whether teaming up with Rollerworld is the right path for The Disco Diner.
Everything will be fine. I have a plan, and I just need to stay on track. I’ll keep following the most sensible rules I can come up with and take care of each game section as best I can.
An old Mariah Carey song starts playing, and I sing along, only slightly nervous at how quickly the lyrics make me think of Penn. But as I belt the bridge, a warning light glows on the dashboard. The engine sputters, and my heart jumps.
I pull over, trembling as a thin wisp of smoke billows out from under the hood.
Seconds later, the tie-dye Jeep dies.
—
Perhaps Connor should’vepursued acting instead of accounting, because when he arrives in the same BMW sedan he’s driven for years, he doesn’t seem at all fazed by my call for help. As if this is just part of his general package for clients: bookkeeping, tax preparation, and emergency roadside assistance.
He’s driven to another suburb twenty minutes from Lakeville to sit with me until the tow truck arrives and give me a ride home. I couldn’t ask Bridget, who’s working, or Theo, who doesn’t have a car, or Ryan, who’s gallivanting through Positano. And I definitely couldn’t ask Penn, who would have loved to help, because I might’ve done something stupid when he arrived. Like kiss him again.
It’s strange but comforting to see Connor’s face. He’s wearing a white button-up with his favorite striped tie and navy slacks, and when he leans across his front seat to open the passenger door, he looks at me with a sort of bemused concern.
Knowing him, he’s probably embarrassed on my behalf. He looks as handsome and spotless as his pristine leather interior, and in reality, I’d appear similarly polished. Right now, though, I’m in a soaked pastel sweater and lavender jeans covered in damp splotches.
“I look like a drowned Care Bear,” I tell him, hoping to break the ice.
Connor ignores the reference and offers me a polite grin. “You must be cold. I’ll turn on the heat.”
I thank him. It’s a nice gesture.
But Penn would’ve laughed at my joke.
The tow truck comes and goes, leaving with my Jeep, and nerves twist at my insides as I sit with the implications of a broken-down car. The Jeep is yet another piece of the game that’s not in working order. It can’t be good, and I can’t help but worry that last night’s make-out is to blame. That I’ve done something I shouldn’t have.
