Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 86(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 86(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
And also, maybe hoping Friday happens to pass by.
I have a pang of guilt the second that thought hits. I shouldn’t be thinking about other dudes when I have a date with Jude on Friday. But then again, it’s not like he and I are a thing yet. I’m not betraying anyone by hoping to see my unattainable crush.
When the mail lady leaves without a word, a smile, even a glance my way—I miss Larry—I head to my box, pulling out the small stack of mail there.
And hallelujah: My severance check has finally landed. I lift the envelope, kissing it.
Beneath it is the stack of regular junk I barely look at anymore—useless coupons and a reminder to schedule my dental cleaning. But at the very bottom is another envelope.
It’s weird to see the name there, and for a second, I think Jude has mailed me something.
But my retainer was direct deposited. I sent my W-9 directly to Payroll; I’ve never personally given Jude my address. He doesn’t know where I live.
And then I register that it’s not from Jude.
It’s to Jude.
The disorganized mail lady has made a mistake, and I’ve accidentally received something mailed to Jude Tilde. Apartment 2C.
“Friday literally cannot be Jude,” I say, pacing my apartment. “That is like, I don’t even know. A fanfic trope escaping into the wild.”
“How many Jude Tildes do you think live in Chicago?” Clara asks. I made her come right over mid-workday to look at the envelope herself. She came to the same impossible conclusion: A person named Jude Tilde lives in apartment 2C in my building, which is the same apartment where Friday lives—seemingly alone—therefore the chances of Friday and Jude being the same person are . . . very high.
“Maybe Jude is actually the roommate that we never see because he secretly lives in Friday’s cupboard?”
“Are you hoping for that?” Clara asks, frowning.
“I’m just trying to come up with any other explanation!”
“Why? Isn’t it ideal that Jude is the hot neighbor?”
“It’s great,” I agree. “It just feels . . . weird?”
Clara shrugs. “You said Jude is in Oregon. Maybe go knock on the door at 2C, and if no one answers, there you go.”
I chew on my nail. It’s Saturday, so unless he is Jude, then in theory Friday should be home . . . unless he’s out being social and enjoying the . . . freezing weather outside. “Okay,” I say. “I’m going.”
This is Scooby-Doo-level investigation, but it’s all I have. I take the stairs down to the second floor, knocking at 2C. Silence on the other side. I knock again, and a door opens, but it isn’t Friday’s.
It’s Catalogs from 2A, leaning out into the hall, frowning across the landing at me. “I heard knocking.”
I look over to her, confused. “Yes . . . but not at your door?”
“Are you looking for Jude?”
So Friday is Jude. I exhale a huge breath, feeling shaky. Slowly, I nod. “Yeah, I was just seeing if he was home.”
“He’s not. He’s in Oregon until Tuesday.” Catalogs narrows her eyes at me coolly, like I’ve shown up wearing the same dress to a party, and I register that she’s threatened. She views me as a threat to her own aspirations to date Friday.
Perfect. I really hoped this situation would get more complicated.
“Did you need something?” she asks, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask whether Jude left her in charge of his Chicago life while he was gone, but I swallow it down, thinking. There’s still a slim chance that apartment 2C Jude who is in Oregon until Tuesday is somehow not the same Jude I’ve been emailing who is in Oregon until Tuesday, right?
“Oh, I just had a question for him about his company.”
She frowns. “Codeify?”
“Yeah.” Holy shit. There’s no doubt. “All good. I’ll catch him when he’s back.”
“Or, like, email him?” she says with Olympic-level pettiness.
“Cool idea, thanks.” I head back to the stairwell.
When I return to my apartment, Clara looks at me hopefully.
“He’s not there. It is Jude. The Codeify Jude. Catalogs confirmed.”
“That’s great!” Clara says, and watches me begin to pace again, the heels of my palms pressed to my temples. “Isn’t it?”
“Do I tell him?” I ask. “Do I text him and tell him this weird, crazy, rom-com coincidence?”
“I think it would be romantic to show up at the restaurant on Friday and surprise him.”
“What if I run into him in the lobby?”
She grins at me. “Flirt your ass off so he’s that much happier when he finds out it’s you.”
Chapter Nine
Veronica
Obviously, I’m a mess for the next few days. Now that I have a face to put with his name—and not just any face but the best face I’ve ever seen—I can barely focus on anything except thoughts of seeing Jude.
Saturday night, in an impulse that will leave me anxiously checking my approval status several times an hour, I request to follow him on Instagram. But throughout the weekend and into Monday, he still hasn’t approved the request.