He said, “Hey, I read that 402 column you mentioned, by the way, and you were right.”
My heart started pounding. Not because it was my secret identity and I didn’t want Jack to catch on, but because Colin read the words that mattered to me. I kept my eyes on his bagel, half-scared and half-desperate to know his thoughts. “Yeah?”
He shoved the last big piece of bagel in his mouth and chewed before saying, “Yeah. I couldn’t care less about parenting, but that article was hilarious.”
I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t stop myself from beaming. “Told you.”
Jack dropped his bowl into the sink and grabbed a half gallon of orange juice, unaware of our unspoken conversation.
Colin gave me a mischievous grin—a twinkly-eyed conspiratorial smile—before dusting off his hands and walking his plate over to the sink. While he rinsed it off, he asked, “So are you working here today or at the coffee shop?”
“Here, I think.” I was too afraid of Hooters-loving runners and sexual healers to hit the coffee shop so soon. “But I won’t invite any kids over today, scout’s honor.”
His eyes squinted as he glanced over and said, “Didn’t you get kicked out of the Girl Scouts?”
Jack muttered, “After the second week.”
“Shut up, Jack.” Man, I’d forgotten about that. “It wasn’t my fault that girl hit her head on a pipe and passed out. All I did was innocently bounce my Super Ball. The rest was a series of chaotic accidents.”
That made Colin slide into a grin. “A walking, talking, chaotic mess, even back then.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have a job to get to?”
“I do.” He went into his room, and emerged a few seconds later with a buttery-soft leather messenger bag over his shoulder. I didn’t know how he managed to look so flawless, so perfectly gorgeous, but my stomach got a little light just looking at him.
“You look like a banker, Beck.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “And you look like you’ve completely given up, Marshall.”
“Well,” I started, letting my eyes stroll over the edges of his face and the soft curl of his bottom lip, “Have a day, then.”
He turned his attention toward the exit and said, “You have a day, as well.”
With that, he left, and I stood frozen, staring at the door for a solid thirty seconds. Wondering what it would be like. What he would be—
“What the hell was that?” Jack was staring at me with his nose scrunched up like I stunk. “You guys don’t hate each other anymore?”
I shrugged and took his orange juice. “We do, just not as much as before.”
* * *
? ? ?
THINGS GOT SCARY good after that.
The column took off. Over the next couple weeks more billboards went up, ads ran, and overall—holy shit—it seemed like the public kind of really liked my pieces. I mean, yes, there were definitely plenty of people who thought the 402 Mom was mouthy and too sarcastic, but the majority seemed to dig her.
I couldn’t believe it.
I was so professionally satisfied, it was as if a match was lit under my keyboard. The combination of real-life reviews and interviews under my actual name, crossed together with the utter creative release of the 402 columns, left me marveling at the fact that I was getting paid to do that for a living.
Like, seriously? It was unbelievable.
When Glenda sent me flowers to congratulate me on our success, I cried for an hour. Partly because I had such intense guilt for deceiving her, but mostly because I was so unbelievably happy that it stressed me the hell out.
Because it was me, Olivia Marshall.
Smooth sailing was not sustainable.
The only complaint I had was that Mr. Wrong Number had disappeared completely. I still texted him as a way to talk to myself, to throw my ideas out into the void, but I was pretty sure he was gone forever.
Why did it even bother me? He was a stranger, for the love of God. My shit was finally together-ish, so I should’ve been good, but at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I lay in bed and wondered what’d happened. Was it me? Was I annoying? Was I too much?
Or was it him? Was he married? Murdered? Running for political office?
I was starting to accept the fact that I’d never know, but there was a tiny part of me that just couldn’t seem to get over it. Like, I missed my stranger friend, which was stupid but it couldn’t be denied. Thank God everything else was suddenly clicking, or I might’ve been completely devastated.