Some weeks later

I’d decided to switch things up.

Instead of my usual Thursday outfit, I wore a black dress with a little line of red running along the fabric about two inches from the hem. My coat was dark gray with big wooden buttons (I’m a sucker for big wooden buttons). The coat was currently draped over the back of my chair at my desk. While I inspected myself in the mirror this morning I’d thought I looked nice.

But if I had to relive my morning all over again, I would’ve worn a tan colored sheet to work instead.

I’d never wished for a bed sheet more in my entire life than I did in this moment. That said, hiding under a sheet while at work wasn’t explicitly prohibited in the Human Resources Employee Handbook—I knew this because I’d written the Human Resources Employee Handbook—I was fairly certain Ms. Opal would not approve.

However, presently, I wasn’t thinking about Ms. Opal. I was thinking about becoming one with the hallway’s beige walls and the tan floor as Dan O’Malley strolled toward me.

He wasn’t looking at me. Yet.

He was reading something on his phone.

I hadn’t seen Dan O’Malley since Janie and Quinn’s wedding back in June, and we hadn’t traded words since that awful, mortifying, disastrous morning in Vegas. If I had my way, I’d never be in Dan’s presence ever again. It’s not that I didn’t want to see him. Rather, I didn’t want him to see me.

So I did a jazz-square of indecision.

I stepped forward, wondering for a split second if I could walk past him undetected and deciding immediately I couldn’t.

I stepped to the right, bumping into the barrier at my side and thinking I could escape the way I came, but then remembered the door I’d passed through locked as soon as it was closed. I hadn’t brought the key.

I stepped back, wondering if I could turn and outrun him. That wouldn’t be weird at all, right? Running away worked for Monty Python’s Sir Robin, didn’t it? That guy even had his own minstrel.

Unconsciously, I sang the words under my breath, “Sir Robin ran away . . .”

But it would be weird if he saw, and with my luck he would definitely see me fleeing down the hall. Plus, I was wearing high heels. He was walking faster than I could run in these heels. An image of him passing me as I jogged in pitiful slow motion flashed through my mind. I laughed a little at the thought even as I cringed with embarrassment.

Even my own imaginary scenarios embarrassed me sometimes. That’s right, I gave myself second-hand embarrassment about . . . myself.

Please don’t ask me to explain why I did this, I had no idea. My father had always called my imagination over active. He’d said this with a concerned frown, like it—like I—was a ticking time bomb.

But back to right this minute and my square dance of indecision.

I stepped to the left, having reached no resolution about what to do, just as he glanced up. His eyes focused beyond me at first, frowning down the hallway and then moving back to his phone. For a singular moment, my heart didn’t know whether to lift with relief or crash and burn with disappointment.

But then he did a double-take. His eyes collided with mine, his steps slowed, and the arm holding his phone drifted to his side.

I straightened, meeting his stare while I gulped in a quantity of air as though courage could be gained from oxygen. For the record, courage doesn’t come from gulping oxygen. But hiccups do.

My hand came to my stomach and I held my breath, forcing my mouth to curve into a smile and hoping he would return it, maybe pair it with a head nod of some sort, and continue on his way.

This is not what he did.

“Hi,” he said, stopping in front of me, his eyes conducting a quick sweep of my person. When they landed on mine they felt remarkably dispassionate.

“Hi,” I said, no longer able to hold my breath now that speaking was required.

We stood there, stiffly looking at each other as seconds ticked by. The tension was unbearable. I had a sudden urge to clap once, loudly, just to break the moment. I couldn’t hear anything beyond the beating of my heart.

“How are you?” he asked softly, “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Janie and Quinn’s wedding on June 14,” I said, then cringed. I sounded like I was responding to a game show prompt.

“That’s right.” He nodded, his eyebrows pulling together slightly. “So, how are things?”

“Good. Things are good. I’ve been good.” I swallowed. “How have you been? Did you have a nice New Year’s?” It was almost Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t want to ask him if he had plans—for obvious reasons—so New Year’s seemed like a benign topic.

He tilted his head back and forth in a considering motion. “Not terrible. I went to the Fairbanks party.” Dan studied me before saying, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, I didn’t go.”

“Janie said you usually go.”

“I didn’t this year. I had . . . family stuff.” The truth was, my father—who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years ago—had an episode at his compound in Duxbury the week before New Year’s. I’d flown out to Boston to move him into a home. But I wasn’t going to tell Dan that. My problems weren’t his problems.

“Family stuff.” He scratched his jaw, inspecting me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Things are fine.” I made a mental note to deepen my voice the next time I spoke; I didn’t sound like myself, my tone was pitched too high.

“Fine,” he said, giving me a flat smile.

And for some reason the flatness of his smile made my stomach hurt.

“Well.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my eyes on his, giving myself one more moment to look my fill before making an escape. “I guess I’ll—”

“You going to Janie’s this Tuesday? For your knitting thing with the ladies?” He shuffled a step forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Yes.” I didn’t move away, I stood my ground, lifting my chin to maintain eye contact.

“You, uh,” he glanced beyond me, down the hall. His eyes seemed conflicted. “You still like dogs?”

“I love dogs,” I said without thinking.

A new smile, more genuine than before, claimed his features as he brought his gaze back to mine. “Right. You love dogs.”

“I do. I love them.”

“Well, if you’re going to be at Janie’s, you should stop by my place on your way out and meet Wally.” His grin grew, his eyes twinkling just the tiniest bit, and my heart did a little flip.

“Wally?”

“My dog.”

Hope fluttered its wings low in my belly. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He nodded once, his gaze traveling over my face before dropping to my lips. “Just don’t throw any balls out the window. My place is on the twenty-eighth floor and I love that dog.”

I grinned. And then I laughed while my heart raced ahead of my brain.

Was this happening?

YES THIS IS HAPPENING!

Is he inviting you over?

YES HE IS INVITING ME OVER!

Has he forgotten about Vegas?

IT WOULD APPEAR SO!

Maybe . . . maybe he was willing to give me another shot.

Smiling up at him, I sighed, and was just about to ask what time I should come over, and perhaps offer to bring dinner, when we were interrupted.

“Dan!”

At the sound of his name, Dan blinked, frowning like he was confused, and glanced over his shoulder while I peered around him.

It was Tonya. Tonya from accounting on the seventeenth floor. She’d taken Janie’s position at Foster just a few months ago and was just delightful. Well, she was delightful except she never laughed at my jokes. But that was probably my fault, I made weird jokes.

Tonya was also smiling at Dan like she knew him well. Really, really well. Perchance even intimately. I quickly shooed away this unpleasant thought, but then my suspicion was confirmed when, upon reaching us, she lifted to her tip toes and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Automatically, his hands came to her sides and he held her, returning the kiss and then smiling down at her.

“Hey,” he said, “You ready to go?”

She nodded, still smiling brightly, “I was on my way to my desk to grab my bag.” Tonya turned to me as she spoke and gave me a friendly grin of greeting. “Hey, Kat. Do you know Dan? He works with the security firm on the top level of the building.”

I nodded and said nothing, returning her friendly grin as best I could. I was dazed, like I’d been spun in a circle thirty-two times and then told to spell aloud chrysanthemum. I’d never met a person who could spell chrysanthemum out loud.

“Kat and I’ve known each other since last year, through Janie. You know, Quinn’s wife?” Dan’s arm slipped around Tonya’s waist as he glanced at me, his gaze once again dispassionate. “We’re friends.”

Friends.

I swallowed, my gaze dropping to the floor as I gathered my wits. Who knew the word friends could sound so sharp? Like the verbal equivalent of a serrated knife. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my chin again and gave my coworker a really good impression of a smile.

“Friends,” I confirmed. Convincingly.

The muscle at Dan’s jaw jumped and he looked back to Tonya. “She’s one of the knitting ladies I was telling you about. I was just asking her to come by on Tuesday and meet Wally.”

Tonya’s smile wavered as Dan mentioned his dog. “That reminds me, I need to pick up Claritin again after lunch.” To me she explained sadly, “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Oh. That’s . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, because—honestly?—part of me was vindictively happy that this very kind woman, who was apparently dating the guy of my dreams, was allergic to dogs.

I’m an evil harpy.

I didn’t want to be an evil harpy.

I won’t be an evil harpy! I REFUSE!

“That’s too bad,” I finally said, and I meant it. “Is it all dogs? Some, like poodles, are better for allergies than others.”

Dan scoffed. “A poodle? I don’t want a poodle.”

“Why not?” I asked, surprised by his snobbery towards poodles. I liked poodles.

“Did you hear about the poodle that gave birth outside?”

I glanced at Tonya. She looked at him with curiosity, like she was interested in the story; but to me, this felt like the set up for a joke.

“No . . .” I narrowed my eyes on him. “What happened to the poodle that gave birth outside?”

“She got a ticket for littering,” he said, completely serious.

And, despite the situation, I laughed at the cheesy punchline.

Littering.

I rolled my eyes.

Tonya looked between us, a wrinkle between her eyebrows.

A few seconds later she also laughed, like she just got the joke, or felt like she should laugh, shaking her head and then turning to Dan and saying, “That’s good information, though. Our next dog should be a poodle.”

His eyes widened, and his lips parted with surprise. He seemed to be struggling to respond. This time, I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing, figuring that Tonya was joking with him in return.

But when Tonya continued to look completely serious, Dan’s expression screamed deer-caught-in-headlights. “Uh . . .”

“Just think about it,” she said.

She’s not joking.

My urge to laugh was dashed, crushed into smithereens. How long have they been together? Are they getting a dog together? Have they talked about it??

Tonya then gave him another quick kiss and pulled away, saying to Dan, “Okay, give me three minutes. I’ll be right back.” To me she sent a smile, “See you later. Maybe Tuesday? When you stop by to see Wally?”

“Sounds good. See you then,” I responded evenly, determined to mask my disheartened disappointment from Tonya.

My co-worker turned and walked quickly down the hall, like she was in a rush to finish up so she could meet Dan for lunch. Both he and I watched her go. Every click of her shoes against the tan linoleum floor felt like the rusty hinges creaking shut on the door to my heart.

Dramatic much?

I sighed. I wasn’t finished being dramatic. I wanted to indulge in the impulse for just one more minute.

I’ve missed my chance. Dan has moved on and I’ve lost my chance. FOREVER!

Now I was finished being dramatic. At least, I was finished until I could escape work and stop by the market on my way home. Once there, I would buy all the cheese. All of it.

But for now, I turned back to Dan as Tonya rounded the corner. He was looking at me as though waiting, patiently waiting, giving nothing of his thoughts away.

I glanced at him. Strangely, I found looking at Dan much easier now that all interactions between us would be taking place within this very well-defined box of our current relationship—which is to say, we had no relationship. We didn’t even have possibility of a relationship.

“Tonya is really great,” I said sincerely, because Tonya was really great. “She made a raspberry crumble for the office third quarter birthday party. It was delicious.” I smiled; that was easier, too. “I’m happy for you both.”

He frowned. I watched his chest expand with a deep breath as his eyes moved between mine.

After a protracted moment, he asked, “You coming by to see Wally? On Tuesday?”

I nodded once. “Sure. Does he need a cape?”

His mouth curved to the side, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you knit him one if I said yes?”

“I would.” I glanced at my hands, considering my next words before saying, “I would do anything for my friends.”

When I looked at Dan again, his eyes had fallen to the floor. He appeared to be deep in thought. Taking another deep breath, his gaze lifted to mine again. This time they looked bracing.

“I have to go,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “I’ll see you around.”

He nodded, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked at me. “You know, it goes both ways. I’d do anything for my friends, too. All you need to do is ask.”

“Thanks.”

Well.

That’s settled.

Friends.

So why was my throat so tight?

Dan gave me a subtle nod, a short smile, and moved to the side, walking around me.

I didn’t move as he left. I didn’t move as I listened to his footfalls carry him farther away. I didn’t move because my mind was racing, readjusting my impression of reality, reorganizing my world view.

I wouldn’t be one of those women who pined for someone else’s boyfriend. I wouldn’t. The girl-code forbade it. As of now—as of right this minute—Dan was just a guy I knew. If I found myself pining, then he’d be regulated to acquaintance rather than friend.

I would avoid him. I would not think of him. I would not—

“Hey, Kat,” he called.

I twisted toward his voice, my heart giving a betraying little flutter as our eyes met.

“Yes?”

“If I don’t see you, Happy Valentine’s Day.” Dan grinned. It was small, genuine, gentle, and it made my chest hurt.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said, issuing a quick smile, and turned, my feet carrying me away from my new acquaintance, Daniel O’Malley.