“Exactly,” Jack chimes in. “Exactly.”
“It’s like a regift thing,” I say. “She told me to use it as a bookmark. In fact”—I grab my bag and reach inside, removing a book I’ve been working on reading—“there.” I open the cover and slide the letter opener inside. “Now it’s a bookmark. It’s actually a pretty cool bookmark,” I add, giving it an inspection. “I like it.”
“She is a library boss,” Jess says. “I’d guess she knows what makes a good bookmark.”
“Or weapon,” I add. “She said I could stab someone with it as well.”
“When I hear you say that again now,” Jack interjects, “that is a little bizarre.”
“For once, Jack and I agree,” Jess concurs. “She said you could use it as a bookmark or stab someone with it? What the hell kind of boss do you have?”
“She meant for protection,” I assure them both. “Because I walk home. And you two agree more than you realize.”
The door buzzer goes off, promising the food has arrived. More chaos unfolds, and soon we have plates of food in front of us, and we’re discussing my parents. “Your mom cheating on your dad,” Jess says, wrapping fettuccini around her fork. “What a bitch.”
“Jesus, Jess,” Jack murmurs. “That’s her mother.”
“And unless she’s gentle on your ears, we both know how she feels about her mother.”
“She loves her,” he argues.
“And hates her,” Jess counters.
“Another topic please,” I suggest.
“All right then,” Jess obliges. “How about guess your secret admirer?” She points her fork at Jack. “Is it you?”
Jack blinks, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights. “What? What are we talking about?” He looks at me. “The dating app?”
“No,” Jess says, “but we’ll get to that, too.”
I reach in my bag and pull out the note, sliding it in front of Jack. “Someone left this on my computer at Caroline’s Wednesday. Then they wrote a note on my coffee cup at Coffee Cats today as well. Two notes.”
“Two different places,” he supplies. “That feels creepy to me.”
My thought exactly, I think.
He looks between us and levels his stare on me. “It’s that damn dating app. I bet someone recognized you from your photo.”
“I find that highly unlikely,” Jess states. “The notes started too close to the time I signed her up for the app.”
“Exactly why it fits,” Jack argues. “It’s the same timeline.”
“Actually, I don’t think that’s true. The window between when I signed her up and when she got the first message is simply too slim.” She glances at me. “Have you been through your messages? Is there anything in the messages that reads like the notes you received?”
“Yes, well, I deleted about half because the men were old enough to be my grandfather.”
“Without reading them?” Jack asks.
“Without reading them,” I confirm.
Jess’s lips purse. “You know there is nothing wrong with a hot, rich older man, right?”
I raise a pasta-filled fork to my mouth. “I’m ignoring that statement.”
“What about the other messages?” Jack asks. “Any hints that one might be your note writer?”
“Enough with that,” Jess grumbles. “It’s not someone from the dating app.”
Jack ignores her and gives me a squinty-eyed, suspicious look. “Well?”
I swallow and reach for my glass. “Kevin sent me a message and said I looked beautiful in my photo.”
“You think the note writer is Kevin?” he asks, but he doesn’t give me time to answer. “No. That just doesn’t fit. He was a self-obsessed, inattentive asshole.”
“Agreed,” Jess replies. “There is no way Kevin did anything as romantic as leaving those notes.”
“I’m not sure I’d call those notes romantic,” Jack argues. “Walk up to her if you want to talk to her. Don’t hide behind a note.”
“Says the man who never walks up to any woman and talks to her?” Jess challenges.
“I might not be a ladies’ man,” he counters, “but I’d never leave a random note unless it was spontaneous and I knew I’d never see the woman again. It would be more likely to make her smile for the day. Two notes is a stalker.”
“Unless the person knows me,” I say. “Kevin makes the most sense in this equation.”
“He doesn’t live in the neighborhood,” Jack reminds me. “He’d have to act like a stalker to leave you notes. And why would he do that when he knows you?”
“Maybe he saw me on the dating site and came to talk to me and chickened out,” I suggest.
“Illogical,” he argues. “He knows you. He dated you. The man has been naked with you.”
“Jack,” I chide.
“He’s right,” Jess intervenes. “This direction of thought you’re presently partaking in makes no sense.”
“Okay,” I say. “He’s responding to me trying to contact him. It’s probably buyer’s remorse. He thought he wanted me again, and then he started talking to someone else. In which case, my notes are over, just like me and Kevin.” I let that simmer a moment, expecting it to feel uncomfortable or bad, but turns out it does not. In other words, the breakup with Kevin was a good decision.
“It’s not Kevin,” Jack murmurs under his breath, reaching for the bottle of wine. “I need a refill.”
I don’t argue with him. I’m not sure this topic matters enough to bother. It’s two little notes I’ve blown up into more, most likely because it’s one of the more exciting things that’s happened to me in years. Instead, I tap my glass for him to hit me up with a refill as well. Jess reaches for the champagne bottle, which as of now is all hers.
“Before I forget,” I say, sipping my newly filled glass and waving a finger between them, feeling loose enough now to tackle this topic, but not too loose to handle a conflict. “We need to compare calendars. Jess, is your party on Friday or Saturday?”
“Saturday,” she says. “Why?”
“I’m going to a wedding with Jack that day,” I inform her, leaving no negotiation on the topic. “What time is the awards ceremony?”
“Seven,” she replies.
I eye Jack. “And the wedding?”
“Two,” he supplies.
“Perfect,” I say. “Then we can go straight from the wedding to Jess’s event, already dressed to kill.”
Jack and Jess stare at each other a moment, seconds ticking by before Jess says, “Fine. I’ll ensure Jack is allowed to attend.”
Who needs a dating app when just like that I have a date with not one friend, but two? As long as I leave the letter opener at home, it will be all fun and games, and no one will end up with a letter opener in the heart.
Chapter Thirty
Jack is looking at Jess with such disdain over her “acceptance” of him attending the party that I snort, at both his reaction and her being her. “You sound like such a snob, Jess. Good thing I know you’re not. Okay, sometimes you kind of are.”
“I’m selective about who I associate with,” she replies. “That’s a necessity to lead a safe and happy life.” She presses her elbow on the counter, her chin on her fingers, and studies Jack. “Why don’t you help out with my dating-site article, Jack?” she suggests. “I mean, you’re obviously so single you’re hanging out with us tonight.”
“Pot, kettle,” Jack retorts. “Where is your hot date, Jess?”
“I just prefer my present company to that of the unknown. Yes, even you, Jack. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. A male perspective can be an asset to my article, and in many cases, it’s harder to come by than a woman’s. Men tend to act as if they just got punched in the balls when you say words like feelings and commitment.”
“How very categorical and yet incorrect of you,” he states.
“You’d rather we pretend it isn’t so?” she challenges.
“I wonder how you’d like it if I made broad statements about women?” he counters.
“What broad statements would those be, Jack?” she queries coyly.
“That’s a trap, Jack,” I warn. “Stop now while you’re still alive and kicking.” I glance at Jess and solidly turn the conversation onto her. “Have you gone through your messages? I’m sure you must have hundreds.”