Oh God. Stevie. I rub my face, glancing up and down the street again before turning back to Michael. Just as I think he’s going to say something nasty, his face crumples and he looks down at his hands.
I feel a flash of surprise. This is the first time I’ve seen him like this: uncertain, wrong-footed. He’s not scowling, he’s not trying to place the blame on me. He knows he’s in the wrong.
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, dragging the heel of his hand over his forehead.
I tear my eyes away from him and look back down the street, gnawing on a fingernail. There’s still no sign of Stevie and I feel desperate. There has to be someone I can call, something I can do.
“I’m going to go searching again,” I say.
“Okay.” Michael nods. “I’ll go too.”
We head out again in opposite directions, but this time I don’t stop at one block. I go around the next block and the next, calling Stevie’s name. Fear clutches at me as I pound the pavement, getting further and further from the apartment. The cold air bites through my thin sweater, but I’m so anxious about Stevie I don’t even care.
Please Stevie, I beg silently, where are you?
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I ignore it. It’s probably Cat checking in on Stevie and I can’t face her yet.
“Stevie,” I call, over and over, my voice hoarse. But it’s no use; she’s not here. I don’t know where she is or what’s happened to her, and tears prick my eyes again. I’m the worst roommate—the worst friend—ever. Cat will never forgive me and I’ll have to move out. I’ll have to leave the city and it’s all Michael’s bloody fault.
My phone buzzes again and I pull it out with a weary sigh. Probably best to just get this over with.
But it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Michael says on the other end, breathless. “We’ve got her.”
“Oh, thank God!” I’m so overcome with relief I want to sob. I sag against a lamppost, forcing myself to take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m heading back.” I practically skip the few blocks back to the building and happiness sweeps through me when I see Agnes and Michael on the front steps, Stevie curled up on Michael’s lap. “Stevie!” I cry, scooping her up and kissing her little pug face. “Thank God you’re okay.” I hold her tight, waiting for my heart to stop racing.
“She was here with Agnes when I came back,” Michael says, relief etched on his face.
“Thank you, Agnes. Thank you.” I give her a grateful smile, cradling Stevie in my arms. “I thought she was gone. I thought—” I break off, unable to say my worst fear out loud.
Agnes smiles. “I don’t think she got very far. Came sniffing up to me a few moments ago. She’s such a sweet dog.”
Michael pushes to his feet. “She is a cutie.” He reaches forward to tickle her under the chin and she melts in my arms.
I glance up at Michael, feeling a spasm of regret for the things I said. I know it was all true, but I didn’t mean to be so blunt. And, I realize, I still haven’t apologized for the whole book misunderstanding. But now doesn’t seem like the right time.
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Michael says earnestly. “I should have been more careful.”
I survey his sincere face, realizing once again how wrong I was about him, wanting to make things better. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too, all the things I said…” I shake my head. “I was just so worried.”
He nods in understanding and something occurs to me.
“How did you have my number?”
“You gave it to me in Starbucks, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say, frowning. “But I wrote it on a napkin. And that was like a month ago, and you never did call me about your shirt.”
He looks momentarily caught off-guard. “Oh, well, I kept it in my phone… just in case.”
I stroke Stevie’s head, studying him. Is it my imagination or is he blushing a little?
Agnes starts up the steps and Michael immediately takes her arm, helping her up. It looks so natural, as if he’s done this a hundred times before, and I remember her saying at length what a lovely man he is. I’m starting to wonder if, just maybe, she could be right.
“Thanks for your help, Agnes,” I say as I climb up behind them. I squeeze Stevie again just to reassure myself that she’s still safe in my arms.
“Oh, I didn’t do anything, dear.” Agnes turns at the top of the steps, her eyes sparkling as she looks between Michael and I. “It was all you two.”
15
I’ve found my favorite coffee shop.
A bold claim, I know. Admittedly, I haven’t tried every coffee shop in Manhattan, but there’s something about this tiny place—called Beanie—that I love. It’s warm and cozy, the smell of sweet, buttery treats mingling with the powerful spice of espresso. There are only a few small tables, but the baristas are so nice; they’ve already memorized my order and they don’t mind if I sit for hours and write. Oh, and best of all—it’s on our street!
A few days after the close-call with Stevie, I wake early and head to Beanie to write for a couple of hours before work. I’m getting into a bit of a groove with my life in the city now—working at the bookstore, writing before or after work, going for a drink with Cat. My romance novel is coming along nicely, and my blog is doing well. I’ve even got a few followers—beyond Cat, Geoff, Emily, and Harriet, I mean. And I’ve
