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Me: And back.
I stared at my phone for a few beats, going back and forth between whether or not I should click the damn link.
I hated the internet’s clickbait garbage which most of the time wasn’t true.
Shrugging, I tossed my phone beside me on the couch.
I had a date with Netflix. Period. Full stop.
Pointing the remote to my big screen television, I relaxed and began my search for something dark and edgy.
But then, as if some kind of weird sign, the movie Serendipity popped up as a Netflix recommendation. Reed.
I shook my head. “Seriously? Just kill me now.”
In a huff, I plucked my phone off the couch, opened Stacy’s last text, clicked the news link, and read.
ABC News, San Diego
The investigation into the death of a couple on their honeymoon in Mexico has come to a conclusion. Authorities found no evidence of foul play and called the incident a horrible accident. The couple, Tyler Cortez and his wife, Cassie Cortez, were found unresponsive by housekeeping inside their room at Hotel La Playa. Autopsy results revealed lethal levels of carbon monoxide poisoning, the sole cause of their deaths. The couple left behind their one-year-old daughter Scarlett, now adopted by the victim’s twin brother Reed Cortez, tight end for the San Francisco Forty-Niners.
I sat, body shaking, tears clouding my vision as I read the news story again and again.
Tyler and Cassie were…gone?
And, oh my God, Scarlett.
I got to my feet in a panic.
Phone. Keys. Wallet.
Shoes, Giana. Don’t forget your shoes.
My Uber to Atelier on West 42nd Street may as well have been a trip around the sun.
I took a gamble in assuming Reed would be home and an even bigger one assuming someone would tell me which apartment he lived in.
“Ms. Rossi.” The smile painted on the doorman’s face was as wide as the Hudson River. “Are you selling another unit here?”
I shook my head, chuckling. “No, but I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Like I could ever forget those beautiful blue eyes.”
“I’m here to visit a friend, Reed Cortez, but I forget what apartment he’s in.”
He nodded, lips pursed. “You’ll find Reed in Apartment—”
“Pizza delivery for Apartment 3411.” A voice behind me, dripping with a Brooklyn accent, interrupted.
I spun around and glared at the man carrying two large Gino’s Pizza boxes, annoyed that he’d barged in with his announcement just as the friendly doorman was about to divulge Reed’s apartment number to me.
The doorman winked at me. “Young lady, why don’t you play pizza delivery person and take those pies up to 3411 since you were headed up to visit your friend anyway.”
Like a skilled delivery girl, I balanced hot and heavy pizza boxes in my hand as I rang the doorbell.
I heard the patter of little feet running toward the door. “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!”
Scarlett.
