Page 5

“And so are you,” I counter.

Matt chuckles. “Yes, but I think I’ll handle it just fine. Worst case, I’ll call Lola. She said she could lend a hand this afternoon if we needed one.”

I smile at the thought of our best friend being forced to make small talk with strangers all day. Yeah, she’ll hate that.

“I’ll make it fast, okay? Maybe I can be back before tonight and help you close.”

I hope whatever news Donna needs to break to me won’t wreck the rest of my day.

Toronto, September 1, 2017

Hey, O.

I understand the dating-in-real-life struggle. I’m off the apps too. They’re such a time suck anyway. Maybe you haven’t met the right person yet.

You think you can just leave me hanging after what you said about your mailman? I’m not sure I fully grasp what’s going on, but it sounds like a very interesting story, and I want to hear it. What did you do to the poor guy?

Thank you for the article you wrote. It was very moving. I take that you’ve been to Jerry’s before? Is it a restaurant in your hometown? I feel like it means a lot to you. I’ll keep the recommendation in mind if I ever visit BC.

Hopefully, this article won’t scare you as much as the first one, although it’s a true story (I secretly love that little terror, and I like to think he loves me back).

Oh, by the way, are you left-handed? I’m only asking because the left side of your letter was a little smudged, which made me wonder. Anyway, a very random question, ha!

Talk soon!

C.

Attached article

There’s a new sheriff in town: How a cat is terrorizing this Toronto neighborhood

Chapter Three

THE BOLTER

Charlee

“You better have a darn good excuse for pulling me out of Scotland, Ben, because there’s no way in hell I left that little slice of paradise, working my ass off on this deforestation article, for this shithole,” I say when I storm into our office on Monday, two little days after my plane touched down in Toronto.

Our empty office. Huh. Where is everybody?

“Ben?”

“In the conference room, Charlee!” he shouts from the end of the hallway.

I roll my eyes.

Welcome back, Charlee. Thank you for coming this fast. Aren’t you jet-lagged? Here’s a coffee. Maybe it’ll help.

Nope, it’s just Get your ass in here.

Classic Ben.

I walk into the small conference room to find him buried in paperwork, his glasses perched on top of his balding head, his brows knitted so tightly that he looks like a shar-pei. Or a sphynx if you’re a cat person. No shame in that, though; cats are the best.

“What’s up, Ben?” I throw my bag on the table and plop into a chair across from him.

At the thump of my bag, Ben looks up, startled. Dark circles color the skin under his eyes. “Hey, Charlee. Nice to see you.” He gathers the paperwork into a neat pile. “Sorry for the mess. They’re drowning me in legal stuff. I haven’t slept in three days.”