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aren’t u at work?
    Garrett—yup, bored
    Me—2 bad here in the world of accounting there is never a dull moment
    Garrett—I’m sure. Get any furniture deals?
    Me—actually yes. Valentine’s Day special on a headboard, kind of ew but couldn’t pass up the savings
    Garrett—too easy, V Day sale on a bed. Bet there were Superbowl deals on flat screen TVs
    Me—Duh, of course!
    Garrett—at least you have an actual bed. I spent the weekend sleeping on bottom bunk
    Me—ha! Party fun?
    Garrett—yeah, Grandfather is cool in a dirty-old-man way
    Me—taught you everything you know?
    Garrett—:)
    Me—GTG, Bree is in my doorway
    Garrett—ah, the Queen waits for no one
    Me—LOL
    Grabbing my coat from the hook behind my door gave me a chance to hide my delirious state from Bree. She didn’t even ask who I was texting with, but I would’ve lied and said it was someone from back home anyway.
    Shutting out her tales of woe with thoughts of Garrett over lunch was easy. I genuinely cared about Bree, but she was getting close to whiny.
    “I can’t think about my life another second. I’m driving myself nuts. What about you, anything fun to report from this weekend?”
    I tried hard to keep a poker face. “Nope, unless you count buying a bed fun.”
    She scooted croutons around her Styrofoam plate. “Could be if you’d talk to Connor.”
    “I will,” I replied but my thoughts were now on Garrett.
    “Well, you have two weeks to do it so you can bring him to my annual Superbowl party. Technically, it’s Alec’s event since the party is at his place and he started it, but of course I’m the one who organizes everything and makes the evening fabulous.”
    I nodded. “Sounds good.” Walking back to our office, she resumed schooling me on the various sizes and shapes of engagement rings.
    ****
    Wednesday was weird. The sky was a gun-metal gray, and my mood soon matched the gloominess. Connor talked with another guy about operating systems at a table in the coffee shop as if it were an actual meeting. They both had open laptops, and I felt approaching him would be awkward. As I walked toward the door, I thought I saw him lift his cup slightly off the table, but it was probably wishful thinking to believe the gesture was for my benefit.
    The disappointment continued when I didn’t hear from Garrett, and my candy hearts boasted random messages. U Rock , Sizzlin’ , QT , and Nice Moves meant nothing to me. I also felt a cold coming on. I had nothing stronger than ibuprofen at my apartment and thought I should stock up and prepare for whatever this stuffy nose and sore throat might turn into. After taking a basket at the drugstore’s entrance, I was once again reminded of Valentine’s Day looming.
    The scene before me was far worse than the grocery store. Three full aisles and numerous displays were dedicated to the manufactured holiday. Foil-covered chocolate roses, silky heart-patterned boxer shorts, and dozens of teddy bears filled the shelves next to the cards and candy. Paper hearts even hung from the ceiling, suspended by fishing line to ensure no one missed the message. I picked out a card each and stickers for my niece and nephew even though Valentine’s Day was still three weeks away. I hoped the cards featuring cartoon characters would make buying the value pack of small candy heart boxes appear a little less pathetic. I had valentines, they were just eight years old.
    Thursday was better. The sun shone despite the frigid temperature drop, and Connor and I made actual contact. He told me my coffee cup was leaking. That sucked, but it was encouraging because: a) I thought the warning showed he cared about my well-being, and b) the conversation was the longest we’d ever had. I thanked him and asked for another cup while he lifted his and whistled as he walked toward the door.
    At eleven, the weekend texts began again.
    Bree—Jake’s Friday?
    555-3430—Yes! It’s Abbie—new phone, add me