The Escape Plan (Only Magic in the Building)

by Katie Bailey

And atop one of those lights sits a little magpie, its head tilted to one side as it… studies me. Well, not studies me. Obviously. It’s a bird.

I suddenly feel a little giggly. Although that could have more to do with the general hysteria of meeting a handsome Irishman in an elevator while unclothed than his pretty accent.

“112?” “What on earth is that?” He gives me a look. “The other emergency number.” “The other one? You have two different emergency numbers in your country?”

“Ah.” Irish Stranger smiles. “I wasn’t going to ask but… any particular reason you decided to take an elevator ride unclothed this morning?”

I have an immediate instinct to take off my coat and wrap it around the woman protectively, sheltering her from… whatever this is. Because right now, she looks even more like she wants to die of mortification than she did when she practically nose-dived into my arms a few minutes ago. The expression on her face makes my heart twist in a way I can’t explain.

“You were?” I stare at her. “Because if I recall correctly, you announced that you took a geriatric aerobics class this morning.” “AQUArobics.” I arch a brow. “I’m not exactly sure how that’s any better.”

Now that I’m here, it feels… daunting. I don’t know if it’s because I’m overtired and need a nap, or because I started my short tenancy here with the most unusual of elevator encounters, but I feel jumbled. Tangled like a piece of string.

I grin at the small raven-haired woman in front of me for the second time today. “Keeley, hi. Hardly recognized you with your clothes on.” Ezra’s dark eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?” His tone is menacing, and when I look at him, I suddenly realize why his eyes looked so familiar. He has the exact same eyes as her. Which means… “Not like that,” I backtrack quickly, holding up my hands as if to show her brother that I’m innocent. “We met in the elevator this morning.” “And my sister was naked at the time?!” His deep voice goes up an octave, almost comically squeaky. “Toweled,” I correct.

I’ve also decided that I’d rather be alone than be an unfit partner to someone.

It really is the perfect time to grow elsewhere, to focus on my career and escape for a while, knowing that I can—and will—always come back for the people I love when they need me.

I turn to look outside and come face to face with… the banshee. “Ahhhh!” the banshee screams, her ghostly white face and equally ghostly wail sending a chill to my very bones. “Ahhhh!” the exact same sound leaves my own mouth as my eyes lock onto the bright white face and tangle of black hair crouching before me.

“What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing?” I demand as I poke my head outside. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just so funny when you screamed and fell off the couch,” she responds, still giggly.

“Don’t be silly, Beckett. Ghosts aren’t real,” she chastises. “So why were you dressed as one?” “I had a Korean face mask on,” she says like this explains everything. Which it absolutely does not, because I have no idea what on God’s green earth a Korean face mask is.

“He’s my next-door neighbor,” she explains. Her eyes widen momentarily before narrowing to slits. “Which means that apparently you’re my next-door neighbor now.” “I love how you say it like I’m the one engaging in questionable behavior right now.”

I put my hands under the edge of the window and pull upwards with as much force as I can. I almost lose my balance when it immediately slides open. I turn to raise a brow at her. “Stuck, you say?”

I give her a crooked grin. “Are you stalking me, Keeley Roberts? Should I be fearing for my life?”

“Why would I waste my time stalking you?” “Because I’m handsome as can be,” I tell her laughingly. “And funny. And exceedingly charming.”

“Well, I would have said that I could charm the pants off you, but you already appear to be missing your pants. Again.”

A burst of laughter leaps from her, and she claps her hand over her mouth as if trying to contain it. I like making her laugh.

in order to keep your heart light and free of burdens and baggage, remember to listen to it when it speaks. Don’t let circumstances dictate what your heart wants, but rather, let your heart shape your circumstances.”

“She wants whimsy. Stars aligning. Something that winks at bending the rules of science we so often use in today’s swipe-happy dating world, with all the algorithms matching people up. She wants a fresh story with a fresh angle. Around three thousand words. Make it fun. Playful. Sexy.”

I’m whipping off my shirt when the door opens. Because of course it does. And because the universe hates me and is clearly out to get me, the person who has just walked into the room is none other than Beckett freaking McCarthy.

“Weird, weird place, this,” Beckett murmurs, his brow furrowed as he jiggles the door again. The reality hits me that, for the third time in two days, I am trapped somewhere with Beckett in some kind of state of undress. It’s beyond what feels like a regular coincidence at this point. It’s almost… freaky.

I thought there could be nothing worse than being trapped down here with Beckett while wearing only a sports bra. But I have to say, being practically bathed in his unfairly good smell might be worse. It’s probably going to smell like ketchup and dog saliva when I give it back.

Keeley—who is currently drowning in my sweater and looking very cute doing so—tilts her head at me, her long black hair waterfalling over one shoulder.

“Oh no, we are way beyond the point of me being a stranger to you, Keeley Roberts. I know your last name. I’ve met your brother. I also possess the knowledge of what kind of pajamas you wear, what brand of laundry detergent you use, and what color your bath towels are.”

“If you must know, I squeezed my breakfast sandwich too hard, and a bunch of ketchup shot out of it.” This is possibly the last answer I’m expecting, and a laugh slips out of my mouth.

“Huh,” is all I can manage. This is the exact type of story my Gran used to tell me, about lore and luck and mysterious happenings in the world, and Keeley’s words—the magic in the tale—are settling over me like a blanket steeped in nostalgia. I’ve missed this feeling.

Andrew studies me like he’s trying to work me out. Almost as if he’s evaluating if I’m a worthy opponent… Eejit. In turn, I look at him like he’s a bug that I’m deciding whether or not to flick out of the way.

“He was jealous,” I inform her. “Doubt it.” She shrugs, her blue eyes hard as they remain on the open doorway. “He broke up with me and moved on to Lisa. He doesn’t care who I talk to.” “He shouldn’t,” I agree. “But he does.”

I know guys like that. Guys who play women for their own gain, who use women to make them feel bigger and better about themselves. And though I don’t know her well yet, I already want so much bigger and better for Keeley than that rat of a guy.

“Shut it, McCarthy!” She glares at me before she leans forward and puts her hands on her thighs, still puffing hard. “You doing okay over there?” I ask, enjoying myself thoroughly.

Coincidences certainly seem to be a thing around here, though, and this seems hardly the time to dig around for such information. So I let the thought go for now.

I look over at her and give her a half-smile. “Guess we’re a sorry pair.” “A sorry pair of Spring Chickens, you mean.” “I beg your finest pardon?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “How lucky I am to have taken up residence next to you.” “Unfathomably lucky,” she declares. We share a smile, and suddenly, my jokey words feel very true. I’m grateful that Keeley Roberts has become a part of my time here in Serendipity Springs.

I shake my head. “We’ll hit the aisle with the Minute Maid in a bit.” “Minute Maid?” “Apple juice,” I explain. “Right,” he says. “Because that was clear as day.”

I was looking for a way to clear my head this morning, and as it turns out, a trip to Spring Foods with my neighbor was apparently the key.

For some reason, the thought of her moving away makes me feel… strange. Just for a moment, until I snap back to reality and remember that in a few short weeks, I’ll be leaving, too, and we won’t be neighbors anymore.

“We’re just friends,” I reply firmly. “Uh-huh,” he counters with a twinkle in his eye, like he very much doesn’t believe me. A twinkle that makes me question if I even believe what I’m saying myself.

“Oh, no, no. No date. Just…” I look down at my fitted purple shirt with the sweetheart neckline, and my cute light wash jeans with ripped details, then back up at Mrs. Hathaway. “Wednesday,” I finish.

Each morning since that impromptu and very sweaty grocery store run, I’ve carefully planned my outfit so there will be absolutely zero risk of running into my new friend Becks again in yet another state of chaotic disarray.

Her kind words and the small gesture seem intimate in a way that makes me feel strangely emotional. Like she’s sealing my worth with her touch.

Beautiful, unfamiliar music that I somehow know instinctively is him. Music that has me ditching my plan to go to the library and instead walking straight towards the sound. Like he’s the Pied Piper and I’m completely under his spell.

“I cannot imagine my ex living upstairs from me. That sounds like torture.” “It’s…actually more annoying than torture-y. Strangely.” She frowns, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t miss him as much as you thought you might?” I ask.

Because despite what might be all my best instincts, I have just realized right this second that ripped jeans and Converse sneakers are my kryptonite.

I want to tell her that, on the contrary, her eyes are currently dancing, but I refrain. Because boundaries. “Pity,” I say instead, “In my mind, you were line-dancing up a storm in full cowgirl getup.” Which somehow sounds equally as boundary-pushing as what I wanted to say.

“Oh. You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbles, turning it harder. The door doesn’t budge. She spins to look back at me, her face a mask of total disbelief. Meanwhile, I can barely hide my smile. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

But when Beckett looks at me, it’s like someone has parted the blinds and the sunlight is streaming in. The way he’s looking at me today when I’m perfectly made-up and dressed well is the exact same way he looked at me when I was covered in ketchup, or wrapped in a towel with soaking wet rat’s-nest hair. He looks at me like he likes what he sees.

“Oh?” he says. Casually, in a way that sounds like he’s trying very hard to be casual when he actually has zero chill. Which is a little bit adorable.

That wonderful, broad smile is back on his face. “Keeley Roberts, you are a genius.” I flip my hair over my shoulder playfully. “Not just a pretty face.” “Brains and beauty. It’s a killer combo.”