Chapter 32

If I were to get a tattoo, it would probably say: Coincidences are fairytales. It would not be a very artistic tattoo, so it’s a good thing I’m as of yet un-inked. Still, it’s the only thing I believe through and through.

That and the fact that spreadsheets are inherently sexy, but that’s far too racy to write on my body.

Clients would love for everyone to believe in coincidences. “Oh my DNA must have been on the victim because I donated a shirt last year and they probably bought it. Along with the knife that I also donated, which has my fingerprints and their blood all over it.”

No, coincidences are just another fairytale like Santa Claus or having numerous close friends in your thirties.

Which is why I had Grant fly me to Zagreus Hart’s headquarters on the skull island to investigate the time loop. It’s time to get this thing solved and his company is clearly behind the collapse of the building—a collapse that happened on the same day that a time loop starts.

I don’t think so.

There’s something fishy going on here—I really should follow up with the whole fish situation that started this whole mess since I’m not technically fired—and I intend to find it out.

Probably.

Now that I’m on the shore at the foot of the skull near the side-entrance in an enclosed area used to compost and to store their recycling until a barge picks it up, I’m not as confident in my abilities. Looking up at the profile of a macabre skull that cackles with a mirthless joy on the outside and bustles with a nine-to-five drudgery on the inside, my confidence is a bit shaken.

“You really don’t think your company is evil?” I ask as the sockets from the skull peer into my soul.

Grant laughs.

Seriously, I think I’m going to have to turn on a light or something to signal to him when I’m actually joking.

“I like it. Dennis gives me a big smile every day before I start work.” He gestures up at the jagged toothed smile formed by overhangs of rock.

If the face in the cliffside were a real person, it would definitely be on bath salts.

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m an optimist.”

“Exactly.”

Grant chuckles again. When I turn to face him, he’s smiling widely. “Oh, Sunshine,” he mutters, looking at me like I’m actually his sunshine.

Like I said, delusional.

With the skull as the backdrop for his delusional adoration, the skull seems to mimic his blissful grin. For a second, it does look like a welcoming smile. I guess that’s the power of Grant’s resolute optimism. No wonder I steer away from it. It falters my faculties. When I look back at the skull after mentally shaking off Grant’s rose-coloured glasses, it’s once again a beacon for nightmares and dread.

That’s more like it.

“When we get in there, I need you to stay close enough to let me into any locked rooms, but not so close that people will think we’re together,” I say, turning serious so that I can stop dealing with the heart eyes Grant is throwing my way.

“Right. And why’s that again?”

I pause from mentally walking through the blueprints of the building.

“Why’s what?”

“Why don’t you want people thinking we’re together?” His voice is casual, but he’s running his hand through his wild hair—a sure sign that he’s frazzled about something.

Fair enough. Before I was publicly fired, I would have had some major trepidation about double crossing my company, time loop or not. It’s a bit like stabbing your best friend in the back, only worse.

“Just I’m going in there as a corporate type and if your coworkers see us talking, they might wonder why we’re together,” I say quickly before returning to the blueprints in my mind.

“They would wonder why you’re with the janitor?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Exactly. In order to develop a relationship with someone who works all over the building, that employee would have had to have been working there for a while, which would raise the question: why does no one recognize me?

I guess I could stick with him if I were making it clear that I was asking some logistical questions. I would just then have to be sure I’m not overtly ogling him. Not exactly my strong suit.

Even in normal, non-spandexy clothes, his body is unreal. It may be the fact that I’m in hormonal overdrive due to his unwillingness to pursue things physically until I fall for him, but he looks absolutely lickable. His biceps strain under his t-shirt. His shoulders swell with strength. His face…

His face looks sad.

It’s an alien expression on his face. One that I never even thought to imagine there. It’s as surprising as it would be to see a dog looking deeply pensive about calculus. Except that would be hilarious.

This is only heartbreaking.

That sinking elevator feeling sneaks up on me. I panic. We can’t possibly be at the reset already? It’s only the afternoon.

Then, I realize that this is different. I only feel that dropping feeling in my chest.

Grant looks sad. It hurts me as much as it worries me. Usually when my dates look upset it’s because they’re about to go through the unpleasantness of telling me that they don’t want to see me anymore.

After day(s) of spending all his time with me, has Grant reached that point? Am I about to have yet another conversation about how he’s not ready for a relationship right now because his houseplants require a lot of his attention?

Fucking ficuses.

That sinking feeling ebbs into an all-over dread.

“Are you okay?” I should be asking Grant that, but, instead, he’s asking me.

I laugh.

“I wasn’t joking,” Grant says, like he’s not the king of misinterpreting serious comments.

The seriousness on his face is another alien expression. This one, though, I like. He’s serious about being worried about me. This man has done karaoke with me, fought (fictional) trolls with me, got pepper sprayed while in a werewolf costume with me, got arrested at the opera with me, and so much more. Maybe it’s time that I start to accept the fact that he’s with me.

Maybe it’s time to take a leap, to get invested, to take a risk.

Dr. Debbie’s Guide to Understanding Relationshipssays that an integral part of relationships is being considerate of the other person’s feelings. As much as I want to have Grant on hand in case something goes wrong, I even more so don’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

If he feels nervous about double-crossing his work, I won’t make him do it.

“You could just wait outside,” I offer.

Grant looks at me and then off into the ocean. The salty breeze blows his hair off his face. He looks so beautiful and so sad that he could be in one of those artsy perfume commercials.

“So you won’t be seen with me? The janitor.”

“Exactly.” He’ll be clean if my cover gets blown on the inside. Whatever I decide to do won’t get traced back to him. Except, you know, if they decide to check the surveillance footage of the shore to see how I got on the island, which they most definitely will.

I decide not to add that part. He looks sad enough as it is.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Hailey. It’s all for you.” His words are light, but his voice stills brims with sadness.

I just nod. I love that he’s willing to go inside for me, but I won’t make him.

“You can stay,” I say gently.

Grant closes his eyes against the ocean air. He holds them closed as he draws in a deep breath. When he opens them back up, he shoots me an easy grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll be out here if you need me.” He looks serious, like he’s vowing an oath instead of making a throwaway comment.

I kind of like serious Grant.

Or, if I’m telling the whole truth, I just like Grant.

“You’ll come running if I call?” I tease.

Without warning, he grabs me and kisses me. There, among the dumpsters and the sea, Grant kisses me so thoroughly that I don’t even realize we’re beginning to float. It isn’t until my toes curl with anticipation that I notice we’ve left the ground. He kisses me until my pulse pounds with a passion that threatens to overtake my reason.

I moan into his mouth—a wordless promise of all that I can’t yet say. Instead, I let my body say that I trust him as I kiss him back with everything I have. I let my heartbeat tell him that I’m falling for him as it beats in time with his own.

When Grant pulls away, there’s still a faint sadness swirling among the lust in his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” he promises.

I want to say something back, but the words just won’t come.

Instead, I kiss him again.

Then, using his keycard, I unlock the door and slip into the building.