Page 47 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Liam,’ I call into the door. ‘You home? It’s me! I come bearing gifts!’

There’s another silence. Then, the footsteps resume.

I bang again. ‘Liam, I can hear you walking around in there!’

Again, the footsteps stop. I step back from the door. The footsteps resume – but now it sounds like they’re above me. I look at the ceiling. Shit. Is the sound coming from his apartment, or the apartment above? I press my ear against his door. Then look up at the ceiling. Damn it. I can’t tell for sure.

What I do know for sure is that it seems like a huge waste to walk away, after all this.

Could I break in?

Immediately, my pulse ratchets up. If he’s home, that could go poorly. Very poorly. But I could always use the doughnuts as an excuse. ‘I had to break in to leave you the doughnuts!’ – that’s believable, right? If I spin it right and make adorable facial expressions? I study the door. Then, I set the doughnuts down on his plain welcome mat and pull a bobby pin from the bottom of my purse, kicking myself for not having the foresight to purchase lock-picking devices when I ordered all the weapons. I lower myself to a crouch and squint into the keyhole, then pry the pin apart and jam in one end. I move it vigorously back and forth. Nothing happens. Harder. Still nothing. If it’s a deadbolt, can a bobby pin even do anything? Maybe I should get some help from Mr YouTube—

A door opens behind me and I spin, yanking the bobby pin out, a blush flooding my face.

‘Can I help you, young lady?’ A very stern woman in glasses looks me up and down.

‘Oh! Sorry. No. Just dropping off doughnuts for Mr Porter!’ I gesture to the box on the floor, which I now very sadly have to leave to maintain my cover. The woman’s eyes track my departure as I scurry back downstairs, stuffing the tortured bobby pin back into my purse.

I push out of the building, back out into the sunlight, my heart still in my throat. I lean against the building to catch my breath and give the adrenaline flood a minute to recede so I can function properly again.

Fuck me, I am not cut out for this sneaking around stuff.

I guess I will need to get in the honest way. A date. And trust that I am perfectly capable of keeping my head on my shoulders and my body fully clothed.

It strikes me that maybe the leap of faith I need to take isn’t about trusting others.

Maybe it’s about trusting me.

Chapter Fifteen

‘You’re my hero,’ says George.

It’s been a few hours since I did my doughnut drop-and-run, and now I’m back at home on the couch, picking at a late-lunch-meets-early-dinner of cold grocery store potato salad from a slouched position, with George on speaker phone.

‘I wouldn’t take it that far—’

‘Queen. Royalty. Goddess! Deity.’

‘It’s just an ice sculpt—’

‘It’s the one thing I cared about for our party, and you made it happen! And Colby is a-maz-ing. Have you seen her work? My God. You know she’s going to be sculpting live, right? At the beginning of the party, it’ll be a huge block of ice. And by the end, it will be two people committing their lives to each other. To scale!’ George sniffles. ‘Sorry, it’s making me so emotional.’

‘It sounds like it’s going to be beautiful,’ I say, scooping up another cold, lumpy bite and regretting my choice to let a clearance sticker dictate my choice of food.

‘It’s a metaphor, you know? Before Arjun, my life was cold. Like a block of ice. But now …’ She makes a series of sounds that are impossible to interpret. ‘I just can’t wait for you to have your turn. Please tell me you slept with Adonis yesterday. Please tell me he is melting your defenses into a puddle and you’re going to get some real, actual boneage—’

‘Ack!’ I exclaim, because the word boneage is extremely cringe. ‘Relax, George! It was a kayaking date. We’re taking it slow.’

‘Margot, you can be slow when you’re dead! You’ve been in hibernation for years. It’s time to come out and play! Speaking of which, where are you at with your business plan for the coffee shop?’

I mumble something incoherent that I hope will pass for an answer. And then, another incoming call buzzes – Liam.

‘Oh my God, it’s him, I have to go,’ I say breathlessly. Did his neighbor share that I was trying to pick his lock?

‘Ah! Report back with every sordid detail!’

I click over to the new call.