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)
“We should have taken it out of the box,” she says, out of breath.
“And ruin the fun?” I lift my leg, reaching my foot for the handicap button to automatically open the doors.
“I’m such a nice sister.”
I laugh. “Is this a good time to remind you that I built all of the IKEA furniture for Dani’s room?”
She grunts and I take that as a retraction.
At the elevators, I reach forward again with my foot, managing to hit the call button. The doors slide open with a cheerful little chime, with no idea how much trouble they’re about to cause me.
“It’s not going to fit,” Clara says, staring at the tiny European-inspired lift.
“It will,” I insist. “Just angle it and . . .”
But Clara seems to think ramming forward is the answer.
One corner of the box slams into the doorframe with a hollow thunk. The box stops dead, wedging the doors open.
I laugh over the top. “Amazing. Well done.”
“Shit.”
Clara reaches over the box, leaning in, trying to free it. Her hand must graze the Door Close button, because the elevator doors begin to chomp down on the box, the buzzer blaring into the empty marble lobby. I’m glad it’s only noon and the mail gang isn’t here to witness this.
“Need a hand?”
We turn. And for one disorienting moment, the rest of the lobby blurs. It’s Friday standing there, grocery bag dangling from one hand like he’s walked out of some casually perfect lifestyle ad. And he’s smiling one of those easy, warm smiles that makes me immediately smile back without even trying.
“Do you happen to have a shrink ray?” I ask, straightening and swiping my hair off my sweaty forehead.
His eyes crease with amusement. “No shrink ray, but there’s a freight elevator in the alley.”
I gape at him. “There is?”
Friday’s smile is infectious. “How do you think they get furniture to the upstairs apartments?”
“That’s on the list of things I consider none of my business,” I say, and he laughs.
“What else is on the list?”
“Why the fifth floor always smells like beef stew, why the salesman today called me ‘Captain,’ and why Loud Kevin is so loud.”
“Oh my God.” Friday laughs again. “He is so loud.”
As is the elevator buzzer. We all turn back, jointly wriggling the box free from purgatory, and Friday capably picks up the entire thing like gravity is just a suggestion.
“What do you have in here, anyway? And please don’t say it’s a pony, or I’ll never be able to get back to work.”
“Guess I won’t ask for help with the hay delivery, then,” I reply, and he exhales a laugh, his eyes twinkling.
We follow him to the back alley, where, indeed, there is a freight elevator. He sets the box down inside but backs out, pressing the button for the fourth floor as he goes.
He’s noticed that I’m on the fourth floor?
My heart does a girlish kick.
He stands in the alley, smiling at us. “Think you’re good from here?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Thank you so much for your help.”
Clara holds the door. “You’re not taking the elevator to your place?”
“He’s only on the second floor,” I say. “He takes the stairs in the lobby.” At this, his eyes lock with mine in a silent, flirty beat.
That’s right, I’ve noticed you’re on the second floor. I’ve noticed you taking the stairs.
“All right, then. Thank you, Lava Lamp,” Clara sings and I whip my head to her in a fierce Do not glare in my eyes. Ignoring me, she waves at him until the doors seal us up inside the lift.
Email correspondence between Veronica Cochran
Subject: Delivery of first draft
Date: February 5, 2026
Hi Jude,
(How often do people start emails to you “Hey Jude,” and—follow up question—on a scale of Norwegian Wood to Helter Skelter, how riled up does this make you?)
I’m attaching the receipt for the laptop and chair, but to take the sting off, I’m also attaching my first draft of a slide deck for the PixelPerfect platform. Feel free to give me any direction here; I’m not delicate about feedback and want this to be exactly what you want. There are several potential elevator pitches in here, but I’ll say my favorite right now is option 1: “PixelPerfect takes your app idea from napkin doodle to app store glory—no coding degree required. If you can drag and drop, you can launch your dream app.”
I also have some taglines here, let me know if there is one that jumps out to you more, and we can start to build that into our graphics.
Apps that work as good as they look.
Apps so good, your mom will brag about them.
Flawless design. Effortless launch.
Because your idea deserves a glow-up.
Hope you’re having a good week so far! It took me forever to get my new chair put together, but it was worth it. I may never leave my desk.