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cold-weather person. Shivering once more against the cool November breeze, I shut the window and hunted up some yoga pants, a fuzzy sweater, and toe socks: my usual Sunday morning, loner clothes. A single mug sat on the kitchen counter, awaiting me when I shuffled into the room, still half humming, half singing the song stuck in my head.
“Thunder,” I murmured under my breath. “Feel the thunder. Lightning… And the thunder. Th-th-thunder…”
No one complained about my awful tone-deaf pitch. No one told me the way I swung my hips, dancing along when I started up the coffee maker, was cheesy and ridiculous. And no one demanded I make them a cup of coffee as well. Because of course, no one else was around.
Which also meant no one could laugh at my cheerful behavior and tell me how cute it was. No one could snuggle with me as we shared body heat and rubbed noses before sipping from that first cup of the day. No one was here to keep me company at all.
My jovial mood sputtered. Once my coffee was ready, I carried it to the big box window—the only reason I’d picked out this place to rent—and sat on the cushions, drawing my knees up to my chin so I could people watch. My neighbor to the left, Major, was taking his seeing-eye dog, Gus, for a walk to the grocery store on the corner. Gabby from the first floor of my building was calling to her little brother who was running ahead of her down the street, demanding he slow down so she could catch up. Mr. and Mrs. Duke were holding hands and tilting their heads close together as they exited the bakery, each eating chocolate scones. It seemed everyone else had someone to share the day with. I was the only one with no one.
I thought again to the night before with Ezra. It’d been nice not being alone in the garden. He’d made me forget about… Well, everything sad. I had liked forgetting. I had liked sharing my time with someone.
I had liked him.
Sighing, I finished my coffee and returned the empty cup to the kitchen, where I preheated the oven. I had no idea why I cooked when I was lonely. Maybe the nostalgic smells of my youth kept me company, because it always reminded me of how I used to love to sit on the kitchen table, swinging my legs and watching when my mom had baked. I wished I had the recipe for that banana nut bread she had perfected. But Lana had thrown out pretty much everything that had ever belonged to Marcella Judge when she’d moved in with my dad, recipe books included.
So I made due with a recipe I’d gotten from the new flower shop owner a couple blocks over. He’d been kind enough to share some recipes with me from his mother’s stash.
Three hours later, I had more chocolate chip cookies baked than I could possibly eat in a year, or maybe I should say shouldn’t eat in a year. So I pulled open the drawer housing my cellophane gift bags and I started to divvy them up. After I left a dozen sitting out for myself, I collapsed on the couch in the living room and turned on a movie.
Then I read a little. After that, I took a nap, ate a late lunch—or early supper, whatever—washed some laundry, and picked out a smart, responsible outfit to wear the next day in order to become the best-dressed personal assistant Brick had ever hired.
Once I’d changed back into my nightshirt and crawled under the covers, then turned off my nightstand lamp, I settled onto my side and tucked a hand under my cheek. My gaze drifted through the darkened room where moonlight spilled across the floor and glinted over the shiny surface of Ezra’s high heels.
This time, seeing them didn’t brighten my mood. They just reminded me I hadn’t spoken to another living human the entire day, that I was going to bed by myself with only my toe socks to keep me warm, and that I was a total, lonely loser. I let out a long, melancholy sigh.
Why did he have to turn out to be so unattainable?
Why couldn’t he have been my happily ever after?
Why couldn’t something in my life finally just go right?
I fell asleep with tears on my cheeks.
But the next morning was a new day. Monday, fresh start, first try at a new job, a new opportunity. Maybe even a new Kaitlynn. Awake and out of bed half an hour before my alarm went off, I was determined to do everything right this time around.
I might not have been as peppy as I’d been the morning before, but I was still raring to go.
Anticipation and dread combined in my stomach, souring my morning coffee and making it completely impossible for me to even think about eating anything. Scared to death that something would go wrong but still hoping for the best, I arrived at JFI nearly an hour before Brick did. But that was fine with me, since I had a tote bag full of deliveries to make first.
To begin with, I stopped by the courtyard to fetch Lana’s teacup I’d left outside on Saturday night. Then I trooped to the basement and visited Bruno’s workroom where a sink and soap and scalding water could be found. After sanitizing the cup, I left a baggie of cookies and a cheerful note for the janitor before I returned the cup to where I’d found it on Saturday.
I made my way to the third floor next, where I left another cookie-filled bag on Hayden’s desk, no note. And then I snuck toward Ezra’s office.
Only the CEOs had outer offices for their assistants; the rest of the department heads either had their secretaries work in their offices with them or they put them out in general population. All this meant I had two office doors to sneak through before I arrived at my destination. From the quick peek I made through the glass walls into Ezra’s outer office, his assistant, Winston, hadn’t arrived yet. I held my breath and slowly reached for the handle to the first door. It was unlocked.
With the first step of my plan out of the way—which was actually getting inside his office—I hurried through Winston’s work area to the door that led into Ezra’s personal space. Also unlocked.
And empty. Thank God.
I drew out a breath and quickly pulled the shoes from my tote bag along with the second to last bag of cookies I had on me.
After arranging the shoes and cookies artistically on the corner of his desk, I took out the note I’d written to him, folded it in half and set it on top of the cookies before getting the heck out of Dodge.
Inside the note, I’d written:
Thank you for a magical Halloween. –Yellow.
No one walked the hall when I reentered it, nobody saw me make any of my deliveries, and no one was around when I breezed through the open doorway of Brick’s office and tried to orient myself to the layout of the land.
