Worst Wingman Ever

by Abby Jimenez

He looked toward the sink and stared. “Where’d you get that bobblehead?” He looked back at me. “It was a gift.” Silence. “Are you a nurse?” he asked. “Yeah. I’m a hospice nurse.” He paused. “Do you drive a white Honda?” “Yes . . .” Something moved across his face. “I gave you that.” I blinked at him. “What?” “I also filled your tire with air and accidentally put a Valentine’s Day card on your windshield.” I was speechless. “That was you?” I breathed. “That was me. John. Worst wingman guy . . . You’re H?” “Holly,” I said, my heart pounding. We held each other’s gaze. The same way we did that day in the courtyard. Only today I was in such a different place I didn’t need to look away. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was too good to be true. My guardian angel. He licked his lips. “I don’t do this. I have really strict rules about hitting on tenants, and feel free to tell me to go to hell. But do you want to go out sometime? Just, you know, for coffee? Or dinner? I could take you to Home Depot. We both need to go; I could probably help you find whatever you’re looking for there.” I had to laugh. “Yes,” I said. “You can definitely take me out. And I think what I’m looking for is already here.”