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I could spend my entire life in a good coffee shop, with just my wallet and laptop.
Karma is so not your boyfriend.” “Did you just quote Taylor Swift?” “Of course I did.”
It’s interesting how love colors things I would normally hate into my absolute favorite shade.
wasn’t lying. My physical exercise for the last few years has mainly consisted of me walking seven steps to my Breville coffee machine, five steps to the bathroom, or four steps to my bed to take a midafternoon nap. Penelope
I hold grudges like security blankets. I treat everyone I meet like a thief, someone who will inevitably betray me if I’m dumb enough to let them inside my house. I resist change, like if I sit solidly in place and keep everything around me very still, nothing new will come through the net I’ve cast around my little life, and that means nothing can hurt me. Not anymore.
Because I am also weak. I have these rules and no desire to grow past them, because the truth is I am a gaping Jenga tower, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m just one move away from crumbling.
Penelope sighs. “Don’t kill me.” “I would never. We both know DNA testing is too good nowadays, I’d never get away with it.”
“I have a key to the park,” he says. Immediately, I’m plotting to steal his key to Gramercy Park.
And I’m officially fake-dating the Billionaire Bachelor for the summer.
“That’s the name of this fountain.” He frowns. “Who names a fountain Bethesda? What kind of name even is that?” I blink at him. “Your name’s derivative is literally ‘park,’ Parker,” I say. “I wouldn’t go around criticizing people’s names.”
My mother treated having been married as a personal failing.
Anger is building behind my ribs. I might be a hermit and not the best at having friends and might intake an alarming amount of caffeine daily but I know my own worth as a person.
“I bought the coffee shop because you love it. I bought it so that you can have your favorite scone, with your favorite latte, at your favorite table, every morning.” He leans forward. “I bought it because it makes you happy, and that, to me, Elle, is priceless.”
There’s a knock on my door. For once in my life, I actually use the peephole, hoping to get myself back in the serial killer podcasters’ good graces.
That happiness seems to be radiating out of me. I’m like an alchemist, gilding everything I touch.
“I’m not perfect,” I tell Parker. He’s said the word so many times when it comes to me, and it’s a lie. He just smiles. “You are, though. To me, you are. It’s like your mind and soul and body and everything was made for me. It’s like you’re perfectly mine.”
Life might be complicated, but love isn’t. It’s pretty straightforward. It’s a lance through plans, and morals, and pride. It cuts right through everything. It doesn’t care about the mess it makes. It hurts, and we let it.