“Yes.”
She seems a bit startled.
“You and Abel?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How was it?”
Her eyes gleam with a smile.
“It’s even better than I thought.”
“I told you,” I say. “I’m so happy for you.”
Her eyebrows tilt up.
“Are you?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes, I am.”
“He’s a nice man,” she says.
“That’s why I’m so happy for both of you.”
She searches my eyes, grappling with disbelief.
“I truly am,” I say in a softer voice. “He was never my man. We met in special circumstances, and I couldn’t be the woman for him. We’re still good friends, but everything else is in the past now. He knows it, and you know it too. All you need to do is to be your usual sweet self with him, and everything else will take care of itself. Anyway...” I say in a different voice. “Why are you asking me if I’m leaving early?”
“It’s Tony’s birthday, and we want to order something special for lunch.”
“Perfect,” I say. “I’ll place the order.” I check the time on my phone. “I better do it now before they get swamped.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I say.
I call an Italian restaurant close to us, and the food trays arrive at one o’clock.
Harper and one of the girls set up the conference room.
I watch them through the glass wall. Harper moves around, coordinating everyone.
I’m glad she’s ditched her sad clothes, replacing them with stylish outfits.
Max and Tony, our two software engineers, walk into the office half an hour later. They sit around the table, and cheers drift through the air.
I push out of my chair, heading their way, when a messenger looms in the doorway.
I sign for a package, glancing briefly at it.
It’s addressed to me personally, which is unusual since I almost never receive personal mail here.
It’s a handwritten label, the return address unfamiliar to me. I’ve never heard of that company.
Without giving it a second thought, I toss the parcel on the desk and spin away. It’s only after I take a couple of steps toward the door that I stop, spin around and dash to the table, nagged by a crazy thought.
I pick up the package and tear the lid open. There’s a box inside bearing the name of a posh boutique, and I slash it open with a cutter and work my way through the swishy paper.