Happily Never After

Four months later

“I WANT PINEAPPLE.”

“You’re just saying that to annoy me. You know my feelings on this.”

“Guys, it’s just pizza—let’s go with cheese and move on.” I sighed, ruing the day I ever implemented the Thursday night pizza tradition with my roommates. “I’m starving.”

“I guess cheese is fine,” Rose said, muttering under her breath, “if you like being hungry an hour later.”

Swear to God, those two were going to kill me. I still stood by my decision to take on two roommates, but some days it was like being a parent.

When Stuart and I broke up, we had a huge fight over the apartment. It was his when we met, and I naturally moved in with him when we got serious because it was a stunning apartment. Downtown high-rise with high ceilings and gorgeous views, assigned parking, elevator—I believed in love when it came to that building.

So when the wedding didn’t happen and I wanted him to move out because hello, cheater, he actually said to me, You cannot afford this building on your salary, Soph.

He was absolutely correct, but I told him he was wrong and bullied him into leaving.

Which left me to figure out how to make rent in an apartment that cost more than I made.

The answer came in the form of two unlikely roommates, which I didn’t want but had to accept.

Thankfully, they were easy to live with when they weren’t bickering.

“For God’s sake,” Larry said, “the pineapple adds like twenty calories. There is no difference in the hunger factor.”

I rolled my eyes and walked out onto the deck, enjoying the warmth of the spring evening after months of dreary cold. I ordered the pizza—half cheese and half pineapple—while watching the people on the street below.

In Omaha, the city came alive on the first warm day of spring. It was as if we’d all been locked underground and were finally set free, so we wandered the streets and had drinks outside and clamored to be out anywhere, experiencing life sans parka and boots.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and a number I didn’t know texted: I have a proposition for you.

I knew I should ignore it, but I replied, You have the wrong number.

A second later, another text. You sure about that, Sophie?

Who the hell? I leaned on the railing and sent: Who is this?

I wasn’t someone who met strangers or had a slew of old friends, so I really had no idea who it could possibly be. When the response came through, I couldn’t believe it.

It’s Max, your “objector.”

Oh, dear Lord, was it coming back to haunt me already? What in God’s name could the man want? I texted: Hello . . . ?

I couldn’t think of any reason that guy would be texting me, other than some weird blackmailing scenario or to warn me that someone from my wedding had discovered our arrangement.

Damn it.

I hadn’t seen him since my wedding night, when we got hammered with Asha. He was gone when I woke up from my one a.m. nap, and I assumed we’d never speak again.

Max texted:

Meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?

Oh, hell no. A tiny knot of tension settled into the back of my neck as my brain scrambled for possible reasons why this stranger would want to meet up.

I texted: What is this about?

From what I could recall, the man was handsome and seemed very normal. Charming, even. He hadn’t skewed creepy or slimy, although the one-two punch of unbridled emotion and multiple whiskey shooters didn’t bode well for my good judgment.

I just want to run something by you. Stop worrying—I’m not a creep and this is no big deal.

I dropped down into the deck chair, scrambling for an excuse because there was just no way. Even if he didn’t have bad news or an angle he was working, there was nothing I could gain from having coffee with him.

As if reading my mind, he texted: Stop trying to find an excuse. Just meet me at Starbucks for five minutes, as early as you want. You can bring Asha if you’re worried I’m a danger to you.

I groaned and decided to roll with it, not because I wanted to but because if I didn’t go, I’d drive myself crazy wondering what he’d wanted. Besides, it was always better to know what you were up against, right?

I took a deep breath and texted: Starbucks on 114th and Dodge—7 am.