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In what bizarre-o world would someone assume Noah and I have history?
“He never told me.”
Noah’s eyebrows jump like he’s surprised.
“Well…” I wave my hand for him to get on with it. When he doesn’t, I’m forced to ask, “What did you tell him?”
“There was nothing to tell. I couldn’t exactly tell the guy that you and I are at eternal odds. It’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to explain.”
“You’re my mortal enemy,” I say, like it’s commonplace. “What’s hard to explain about that?”
“Sure. But then people want details.”
“Details? Simple.” I might as well be reading the back of a cereal box. “It was hate at first sight. I annoy you and you annoy me. As long as we both shall live.”
I expect him to agree wholeheartedly, inflict some sort of horrific trauma (like kicking the lever of my chair so I sink down until I’m a foot off the ground), and then disappear like a phantom.
Instead, he seems to mull something over, bobbing his head left and right before leaning in like he’s about to tell me some juicy piece of gossip. He crooks his finger for me to get closer.
“I get it. Believe me.” His eyes narrow. “But do you ever…”
His curiosity dwindles into a cliffhanger that has me champing at the bit.
“Do I ever what?” I ask, impatiently.
Spit it out.
“No, it’s just. Have you ever thought…”
Eons pass.
He waves away his thought. “No. Never mind.”
I have half a mind to grab ahold of his shirt collar, tug until we’re nose to nose, and growl at him to finish what he’s saying.
Instead, I hold perfectly still like Noah’s a mustang I don’t want to spook. If I had a sugar cube, I’d feed it to him.
When he pushes off the desk and stands to leave, my heart sinks.
“Forget I said anything.”
Chapter Ten
I think the universe has it out for me.
I’m just over here minding my own business, and then—WHAM—I wake up the next morning to a barrage of reminders that I am a party of one and everyone else is in love and isn’t life just grand as long as you have your soulmate by your side?
It starts with the fact that today is my cute-ass parents’ 25th wedding anniversary.
My dad emails me the slideshow he made as a gift to my mom. It’s composed of photos and clips of them from over the years and he has “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys playing in the background. The melody stabs me in the heart and every picture is more adorable than the last. Their faces squashed together; smiles brimming over; dorky ’80s clothes; honeymoon beach pics; huddled close, cradling little baby me.
My dad tells me he’s made a reservation at their favorite steakhouse. He’s going to have two dozen red roses waiting for my mom at their table.
As if that’s not enough, next, I see a bunch of texts piled up from Kristen and Melissa. While I was sleeping, they were giving me updates on everyone back home. Apparently, a friend of ours got engaged. Oh, and another friend just got married. Did I see the picture of Jon dipping Sarah into a kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower? And isn’t Jessie the cutest pregnant person ever?
I’m shriveling into a bitter old shrew when I accidentally click a sob-worthy Soldier Coming Home video on Instagram and THAT IS ENOUGH.
I CAN ONLY TAKE SO MUCH.
I toss my phone to the bottom of my bed and roll onto my side, staring at my closed door.
Why am I alone? I wonder.
You spend every waking moment focusing your energy on hating Noah.
No, that can’t possibly be it.
I’ve just had bad luck.
Since Jeff, I’ve had exactly zero meet cutes with eligible men. All the elevators I step onto are in perfect working order. Every bakery I visit is owned by some middle-aged mom, not a hunk who quit his big-time attorney job to pursue his love of patisserie. I peruse the aisles at grocery stores and never accidentally reach for the same bunch of bananas as my high school crush who happens to be back home so he can take care of his ailing grandmother. I mean, where’s the justice in this world?
I push aside my blanket and force myself to get up and out of bed.
I can’t just mope around. I’ve got a full day of minding children followed by a torturous double date ahead of me. Could life be more exciting?!
It occurs to me that I could try to get out of going on the double date, but it’d be pretty tricky. I have so few excuses at my disposal. Nothing is going to come up out of the blue. I know exactly zero people in Rome. I’d have to feign illness, and Noah would see right through that.
