“I need to do something to show him how sorry I am.” I chewed my fingernail, thinking.
“What exactly did you do?”
“You don’t know?”
“Beckett doesn’t tell me anything. It took me a week to track him down, and I live in his house.”
“It’s better if he tells you,” I said. “But I need your help. I have an idea about a present for him.”
“Sexy lingerie? That always worked on Jeff.”
“Not exactly. I was thinking socks.”
Pressly laughed. “I know the perfect place.”
The next afternoon,I caught a cab outside La Guardia and headed to Beckett’s Chelsea apartment.
I began to panic on the drive. What if the unicorn socks weren’t enough? They were socks for crying out loud; they were nothing special. He might not even get the joke. After my betrayal, I needed to do something bigger, something really grand. Something that would hook him like he’d hooked me.
I thought of the limericks he left for me, and an idea took shape. I rummaged in my bag until I found a pen and paper. I would write him a limerick to show him how much I cared. I scribbled a few lines, then crossed them out. I crumpled the paper and found another. I started over but soon grew frustrated.
Writing limericks was no joke. How did Beckett do this?
He made it look easy, churning out the rhyming poems with little effort. The only thing I’d ever penned was a book review. I regretted teasing Beckett about his dumb limericks as I struggled with the first line.
There once was a girl named Lacey…
We passed Madison Square Park, and I knew time was running out. I exhaled with enough force to draw the eye of my cab driver.
“You don’t happen to know any limericks, do you?” I asked her.
She spared a glance at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Those silly poems?” she asked in a strong Caribbean accent that took me straight to blue skies and cerulean seas.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, my baby, I’m just tryna ta drive.”
Traffic was heavy. We were right in the middle of rush hour. My driver was doing her best to avoid getting in a pileup. I was on my own with my limerick. I tried again, grateful for the slow-moving traffic that allowed me more time to get creative. By the time we arrived in front of Beckett’s building, I’d scribbled a limerick that would show him how much I loved him. Or at least I hoped it would.
Thanks to Pressly, the doorman was expecting me. He allowed me inside the industrial-chic building, offered me a cup of water, and let me know that Mr. Vinroot had left about twenty minutes ago. I could wait in the lobby or go up to his apartment if I had the code. I wasn’t sure if I had the correct code. Beckett changed them so often it was possible Pressly’s was outdated.
I wouldn’t mind freshening up before I went upstairs. “Is there a bathroom I can…” I patted my flyaway hair.
The doorman pointed me down a long hall. “You look beautiful, young lady. If I was twenty years younger, I might try to steal you for myself.”
I smiled at the older gentleman, thinking it was more like fifty years. He could have been my grandfather. But I would take the compliment. In the bathroom, I fixed my hair and straightened my clothes. My outfit made me look more confident than I felt. The off-the-shoulder dress in deep wine featured a steel-boned corset top that cinched my waist and displayed my cleavage. The skirt fell in soft folds to my ankles. The three-inch heels on my boots gave me a boost of confidence and would make it easier to reach Beckett’s mouth.
I could only hope I got the chance to kiss him. He might take one look at me and order me to leave. I wiped my damp palms on a paper towel. What if he slammed the door in my face? Worse, what if he acted like everything was fine? That we were friends, and there were no hard feelings. No feelings at all.
I might die if Beckett was unaffected by me. Down deep, I couldn’t believe he’d intended that good-bye kiss to be our last.
My heart climbed into my throat as I left the bathroom, clutching the paper with the elevator code in my clammy hands. As I walked down the hall, I heard the doorman call hello, and then a familiar voice. An icy feeling of dread spread through my chest as I recognized the woman’s voice. I would know that snarky tone anywhere.
“No, he’s not expecting me,” said Sally.
I turned the corner into the lobby, and my fears were confirmed. Sally stood next to the elevator, her hand poised to push the button.
My high-heeled boots clicked on the tile, announcing my arrival. Sally’s head snapped up. When she saw me, her eyes went round and then narrowed suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
