Dom tells me that a doctor who works with him, a woman named Sarah, suggested he look on Craigslist to see if someone was looking for Loki in the Lost and Found section when my cat showed up on his patio. Otherwise he never would have thought about it. I thank my lucky stars Dr. Sarah is alive.
Every now and then, I sneak a glance at Loki. Each time, he is an inch or two closer to the pet carrier. The scent of the tuna becomes overwhelming. So much so that Dom and I stop eating the doughnuts because everything is starting to smell and taste like canned fish.
It’s becoming pretty clear, just as I suspected, that Dom and I have nothing in common. We’re comically different. He likes action films and blockbusters; my favorite movies are Donnie Darko and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. He loves sushi and seafood; I swear by McDonald’s and Taco Bell. He does CrossFit; I . . . get cross when people tell me to get fit. He is a regular at the gym, the library, the local book club, and a choir （a choir!）， and I only leave my house to earn money or spend it on junk food.
“You really highlight my lack of ambition.” I finish the coffee and put my cup down. “You’re like . . . pep talk, personified.”
Dom chuckles. “Can’t help it. I want to grab life by the balls. Not to sound clichéd, but today is the first day of the rest of your life.”
“Could be my last day too,” I point out, the sunshine that I am.
He salutes me with his cup of coffee. “Yet more reason to seize the day.”
“Or no reason at all.” I get philosophical. It’s liberating. To talk to someone who is so out of your league you don’t even have to pretend to be charming. “Because if something is inevitably going to end—our lives, in this case—why even start it?”
Dom is about to answer me, but then he frowns and looks behind my back.
“Lynne?”
Boy, I’m not going to miss being called that. “Yeah?”
“Lucky just got into your carrier.”
I don’t correct him that it’s Loki. I turn around, crouch down, and quickly flap the carrier door shut, locking it in place. Loki lets out a guttural meow in protest, but a few seconds later, I can hear him purring and gorging on the tuna. This cat is a real piece of work. He needs Will sell principles and all future plans for a snack embedded on his collar.
I hop up on my feet. Now that Loki is safely inside the pet carrier, and Dom’s apartment is never going to smell un-tuna-y again, my job here is done. “Thanks so much, Dom. I owe you big time.”
I flick my wrist to look at my Apple Watch. It’s a hand-me-down from Nora, who thought it would encourage me to get in my ten thousand steps a day. In practice, it’s only highlighted my 2,393-step lifestyle. I see that Dom and I have spent almost an hour together, which means his shift must be starting soon.
Dom stands up and walks me to the door. He opens it for me.
“Don’t worry about it; you paid in doughnuts.”
“Well, yeah, but I kind of worry the stench of the tuna is now inked into your walls.” And your soul.
He laughs. “It’ll remind me of the ocean.”
“Ugh, Dom. You are obnoxiously optimistic. Have a good life.”
I’m stepping away from his threshold when he blurts out, “Can I have your number?”
I turn around and stare at him, just to make sure I heard him right.
“Mine?” I stab my chest with a finger, looking around, like there are other people on his doorstep. Hasn’t he listened to our conversation? We’re polar opposites. In looks too. He is movie-star gorgeous, and I’m pitifully normal. Not ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but nothing to write home about.
“Yours.” He ducks his head down . . . is he blushing? For real?
“But . . . why?” I ask, flabbergasted.
“Because I had fun?” He raises an eyebrow in confusion. “And because I made the deduction that if you had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have wanted to wait for your roommate and her man to come with you.”
He’s got me there. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I admit.
“Great for me. Sucks for hypothetical him.” His smile widens. It’s a nice smile. And he’s a great guy—gorgeous, funny, and way nicer than I deserve—but I’m not in the market for romance. For boyfriends. For magic.
It depresses me, because if a guy like Dom can’t get under my skin, who could? He is perfect.
Perfect is boring, I hear Mom yawning in my head. It’s a state where there’s no room to grow.