Page 13 of You'll Love it Here

“Of course.” His eyes soften. “I’m always happy to helpIrene.” Is it me, or does he say my landlady’s name rather pointedly?

Right. Hedoesthink I’m a dickhead.

“I also wanted to apologize.” I inhale, hold my head high, and summon my best I’m-an-upstanding-citizen-and-good-Samaritan voice. “I’m sorry about the way I acted at your place of business last night.”

He stares at me, eyes wide, before a real smile cracks across his face. “You know, Hallmark should make a card for that.”

“I wasn’t myself,” I continue, looking down at the floor with contrition. “I never drank that much before. This has been a bit of a hard twenty-four hours, but I’m hopeful I can turn it around.” When I look back up at Sami he doesn’t seem too convinced. “Seriously, I can’t remember much, but I want to die a little bit everytime I think about what I likely said or did. Normally, I... I...” I gesture around myself as if my organization system proves something. “I mean, normally at that hour I’m in bed and not harassing diner employees for fried food.”

A wounded look flashes across his eyes, one I didn’t anticipate. One that matches the feeling in the pit of my stomach that has been churning since yesterday. He nods stiffly. “It’s all good.” He takes a step backward, toward the door, but stops when he glances down at Ernest, who’s curled up like a little donut on the carpet. “Do you have everything you need for him?”

I bend down and pat Ernest, who looks up at me with his huge, cloudy, somewhat vacant eyes. “I think so. I’m actually a really big animal person, but I haven’t had time for a real pet.” This is true. I’ve browsed the local rescue pages on occasion and broke my own heart before closing them out. I choose not to disclose that I’ve never actually cared for a pet either, aside from a clinically depressed fish who only requires the occasional shake of flakes into her bowl (flakes that smell concerningly like fish). “So I’m looking forward to it.”

He notices that my gaze has slipped toward Alice. “You have a pet fish. That’s kind of random.” I can’t tell if he’s trying to be nice or accusing me. His expression is giving me nothing.

He tugs on the harness he brought with him. “Has he gone for a walk? It’s been a few hours since the fire alarm.”

“Right.” I smile confidently, like I’ve always known dogs took walks. Although, honestly, with this dog’s penis-grazing, I’m not sure more ambulation is what Ernest actually needs. Does he have a callus for the part that rubs against things? Instead of asking that, I just say, “Of course—but no need, I was just about to take him on one.” I put out my hands for the harness.

“Oh, that’s great!” Do I imagine his knuckles tightening their grip on the harness? “I can join you. Show you his route, his favorite trees to pee on.”

“All good. I think I can manage to find a suitable tree.” As I kneel and pat Ernest’s head to prove my point, he sneaks little dog kisses into my palm. I smile to demonstrate that I find this very cute.

His voice hardens. “It’s just, if Irene is in the hospital for much longer... Well, she can be kind of particular about Ernest’s routine.”

All right, this is no longer a normal threshold of concern. He definitely knows. He thinks I’m a wretch, a scoundrel, a scumbag. And worse still: He’s witnessed enough of my debauchery to ruin my life. And by the looks of it, he’s planning on doing just that.

I have nothing else to lose now. Or at least, I won’t if he chooses to ruin me. It bursts from me before I even think it out: “Okay, I did it!” I let out a huff at the same time his stance squares. “I vandalized the lobby, wrote on the board, caused the fire alarm. All of it.” My words are tight, like they’re being fed through a sieve. “But it really wasn’t like me. That’s not a cop-out, I just mean I’ve never done anything like that before. And I never will again! I’ve been a ball of guilt all day. I feel terrible.”

He rubs his jaw; a scratching stubble noise filters into the otherwise silent room. I wait in tense silence for his verdict. Finally, he nods. “I mean, I figured it was you.”

I stare at my feet. “I was that bad last night at the diner, eh?”

He half grins as the tops of his ears redden. “I mean you were a tad drunk, but mostly I figured it out because of the broken vase from the lobby that’s currently in your sink.”

Both our gazes crawl toward the shattered vase that’s visible from here. Truly, I’m an idiot.

I look at him pleadingly. “Can you please do me the biggest favoreverand... not tell Irene? Or anyone, really...”

The words draw instant unease into his expression.

I take a step closer, earning another waft of his minty soap, and look into his eyes imploringly. “I know I’m basically a stranger toyou, and Irene’s your friend, but yesterday was... Well, it was the worst day ever.” Not therealworst day, not even the second worst day, but I shove that thought down. “The career I’ve been working toward all my adult life imploded, so I went a little wild, and I really don’t think Imeantto cause the damage.”

“Yeah.” He leans against my kitchen counter, a pregnant silence filling the room as he considers his words, before finally saying, “Last night you mentioned your work was stressing you out.”

I cringe at the mention of the conversation we had that I can’t recall. “Sami, when I came in last night—it’s a little spotty.”

“Oh, you mean how you acted at my place of business?” He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, before his eyes round out with sincerity. “Honestly, you weren’t that bad. And it was pretty empty when you came in. Just me and my dad. I think he’s a fan of yours now.” He smirks.

“Oh god. What did I do?”

“Nothing wild. You ordered cheese fries. It’s just at some point you got up—I think to go to the jukebox—but you didn’t know how to work it, so I tried to show you, and you stumbled, and I helped you up.”

“And I made a weird comment about your, um, arms?” A faint echo of my words, something aboutwanting to be wrapped up in them, floats through my memory, which I’ll never be able to forgive or forget.

“Don’t worry.” There’s a blush on his forehead. “You made sure to clarify that you weren’t hitting on me and that I was probably a gym asshole.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. That was very rude.” Why must I exist as the person that I am sometimes?