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By the time the sun sets tonight, I fully intend to be horizontal with a glass of wine and a book that guarantees a happy ending.

Heading into the kitchen, my eyes land on the Tupperware stack on the counter as I crutch past it toward the coffee maker. Nine containers in a week. Nine times he left something on my doorstep or in my fridge without knocking, announcing, or expecting anything in return.

I pick up the stack and put them in one of my reusable grocery store bags I always have extras of because of my inability to remember to bring them from my car into the store.

I stand at his door longer than I mean to before I finally knock, elbow to the wood since both hands are full. I hear him moving before it opens.

Gray slacks, white dress shirt still open at the collar, hair not quite settled—not long out of the shower. His face breaks into a smile before he even finishes opening the door, easy and unguarded, like he wasn’t expecting good news and got it anyway.

Handsome menace.

He takes in the stack of containers and then looks at me. “Morning,” he greets cautiously.

“Your Tupperware,” I say.

He takes the stack from me, our fingers not quite touching in the transfer.

“Thank you,” he responds, stepping to the side. “Here, come on in. I will make you a to-go cup of coffee. I’m sure you don’t have nearly enough at your place.” He steps back from his door and heads into the kitchen, not looking back to see if I am coming.

I follow him in on instinct, about to refuse when the rich aroma of my favorite blond roast wafts over to me. The only coffee the girls have been letting me drink is half-caff, which might as well be dirty water.

I take the to-go mug, sipping on the life-giving elixir. He uses the opportunity to speak. “Sugar, I am not going to pressure you.” He keeps his eyes on the coffee. “But when you are ready—I’m here.”

I’m about to mutter a thanks for the coffee and leave when Nessa’s mahi green electric van pulls into the driveway. I close my eyes, knowing I can’t crutch my way out of the open door fast enough.

“Hello? Phoenix, I’m assuming you are in here, as well as someone else who I very much wish has a Mercury-in-retrograde kind of day.” Nessa walks into Jackson’s place, peering around at his decor.

When her eyes land on the couch, her body recoils. Without a word, she heads to the sofa, with its back to the window, and rotates it approximately fifteen degrees, facing the natural light instead.

“The couch was blocking the flow,” she says to no one in particular. “You had it arguing with the window.”

Jackson looks at his couch and then back to Nessa. “I just moved in,” he states defensively.

“Clearly,” Nessa intones, unimpressed. Looking back and forth between us, she asks, “Am I interrupting? I’m sensing some negative energy.” She looks me up and down. “No surprise, considering the Jackass that lives here now.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jackson corrects right away.

I glare at him before Nessa chimes in, “Fascinating,” she titters, eyes dancing in delight. “Oh Phi, I forgot to show you this.” She eyes Jackson with an evil glint in her eyes. “I have it as my lock screen.”

She angles her phone so Jackson and I can see my work of art: Photoshop skills of Jackson as a donkey.

“I even made the best dancing video of this image; it has over three hundred thousand views!”

Putting the phone away, Nessa turns her full attention to me as if Jackson isn’t here. She rifles through her overly large tote bag while filling me in on our plan for the day.

“Phi, your chariot awaits.” I am already crutching toward the door when she gently inquires. “Hey, you alright?”

I know she isn’t referring solely to my ankle.

“Yeah, just thinking.” I give my head a light shake. “Big day today, thank you for helping me through it.”

“Of course, two job interviews in one day, no rest for the wicked.” Nessa gently bumps my shoulder in respect.

She gathers up my few items and we head out the front door.

“Phoenix.” I stop without turning around. “When you’re ready,” Jackson says. “That’s all I’m asking.”