Page 3 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” I say, presumably losing my damn mind. No, losing my mind would have been breaking the door down. This is one step below that.

When I get back down to my apartment, I quickly grab some peanut butter, a spoon, and my yoga notebook off of the counter. Yes, I’m going to sit in that damn hallway and keep the dog company, because that’s the kind of crazy I am.

I run back up the stairs with gleeful excitement, a stark contrast to my first trek up this flight earlier. Of course participating in a stakeout with a dog I can’t even see is the first thing that would make me happy since Lucy’s fleeting visit.

“Hey, bud,” I say, sitting on the floor outside of my heartless neighbor’s door. “Look what I got.” I take a spoonful of the peanut butter and squeeze the spoon under the door.

I smile when I feel a tongue pushing against the other side of the spoon.

This, my mother would say,is why you’re single.

Damn straight, Mom.

Two

Oliver

There’s a woman sitting outside my door.

Actually, there’s a womansleepingoutside my door.

I stand there, frozen at the top of the stairs, really unsure of my next move. It’s almost 6:30a.m. I don’t have time for this.

I swear New York wasn’t this crazy when I left.

I take a step closer, careful to be quiet in case I wake her before I figure out how to deal with this. The woman has her back up against the wall adjacent to my door, a notebook in her lap, and a pen falling from her limp hand. I notice a tattoo on the inside of her wrist—the outline of a crescent moon and three stars. I stare at her face, side-stepping the fact that she isstunning, and gauge how likely it is that she is insane. I mean, her sleeping outside of a stranger’s door gives me some indication, but I’d like to know how likely she is to jump up and shank me when I try to wake her.

Her hair is tossed in a messy bun at the top of her head, but some untamed blonde curls seem to have escapedconfinement. They frame her face, where plump lips sit just barely parted, a shallow breath passing through them every few moments.

I wonder what color her eyes are.

Get it together, Cole.Her eye color has nothing to do with whether she poses a threat at this moment.

Fuck, I’m tired.

I just finished my third night shift in a row, and the ER was especially insane tonight. I’m pretty sure I have pee on my shoe from a catheter that leaked in one patient’s room, and I cannot wait to shower. Three night shifts combined with sleeping on my sister Sophia’s tiny mattressandtaking care of her exceptionally needy dog that she adopted before jetting off to a gap year in Italy, has me a bit on edge. And now…this.

My gaze drifts to the floor next to the woman, where I spy an open jar of peanut butter and a spoon wedged under my door.

Final answer: Definitely crazy. Probably not a threat.

I clear my throat and she jumps. Not in ready-to-attack mode, but definitely with a why-the-fuck-are-you-disturbing-my-sleep attitude.

Brown. Her eyes are brown. And big, and staring at me like I’m dead meat.

“Can I help you?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.

She studies me,reallystudies me, from top to bottom, before responding. “That depends. Do you live here?” she asks, her voice gravelly from sleep. Her tone implies thatI’mthe one inconveniencingher, as if she’s not blocking the way into my apartment. She stretches out her neck, turning it side to side.

“Is there a problem?” I reply, crossing my arms.

She stands up abruptly and opens her mouth as if she’s about to cuss me out, but a whine from the other side of the door catches both our attention.

“That!” she groans. “Is the fucking problem.”

Oh, man. What could he have done? Guilt settles in my stomach for leaving Thor alone for so long, but I didn’t have much of a choice. He didn’t destroy anything the other night. I could tell that he was scratching on the carpet, but I figured that was the extent of it.

“I’m sorry. Was he barking?”