Signed, Sealed, and Smitten (Only Magic in the Building)

by Melanie Jacobson

Show me a girl who loves to read who hasn’t had the same fantasy, and I’ll show you—nothing. That girl doesn’t exist.

That smile, in a silky whisper, spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

I’m not a guarded person, and I couldn’t act distant or standoffish if I tried. I am a lifelong golden retriever with no chance of being a black cat.

“What would you like to know?” Favorite kind of first date, preferred flower, and when do you think you’ll wear cutoffs again? I don’t say any of that, obviously.

I’m going to have to learn her smiles because I don’t know if this is a pleased-to-see-me smile or if she’s trying not to laugh at me.

“Are you even a dude? Maybe you’re a lady turtle and you can’t understand my problems.” I get a slow blink that feels like an eye roll. Hmm. That’s got a distinct feminine energy.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and pulls a glass from a cabinet. He fills it with water before he drinks it over the sink, staring out of the window. “Jay?” He holds up a hand, finishing off the water. He sets the glass on the counter and braces his hands on the sink, keeping his eyes on the view. “I’m okay.” “What’s wrong?” “I had to deal with a sudden urge to push you up against a wall and make out with you.”

Oh. Oh. He turns toward me, one corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re good. Go back to work.”

She seems to be a fan of my shoulders and legs, and I do the thoughtful thing by coming around in shorts all the time.

“The building has already gone to work on you. It’s sending you those letters.” I don’t have the heart to tell them that the only men I’ve interacted with are the parrot guy and Peter, who I hear is very taken. If these letters are the building’s matchmaking, its magic is misfiring. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll be on guard.” “Don’t bother,” Mr. Hathaway says cheerfully. “If it’s found your match, it’s your time whether you know it or not.”

“This is what you call serendipity.” “Happy accident. That’s what serendipity means. I couldn’t remember if it meant fate or good luck or something like that, so I looked it up.” “Then maybe it’s not serendipity.” He reaches with his free hand to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, then cups the back of my head and meets my eyes. “At this point, it seems inevitable.”

I’m tired of fighting my feelings, and with this new revelation, it feels like I’ve been trying to fight something even bigger than that.

I always thought compromise was a dirty word, but it sounds better if you call it problem-solving instead.

“Dare complete. My turn. I pick truth.” “Okay, uh …” “I’ve got one,” he says. “I love you, Phoebe, and that’s the truest thing I know.” My breath catches, and my heart speeds up. I move down a step until our faces are even between the rungs. I search his eyes, and there’s only gentleness, no teasing. “You do?” He nods. “Big-time.”