Page 42 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Me: I’d really love for you to paint the wall with me this weekend.

Asking for her support is easier this way. Driving the scenic route around the stress that is my life. I resume bouncing my heel, waiting on her reply.

Nemesis: Count me in. And maybe we can get out on a hike too. I’d love to see the area from your perspective.

Or she knows getting me out in the wilderness is my ideal distraction. As is slowly wooing Maggie, and I know just how to continue.

* * *

The next morning, I leave Maggie another note. I don’t hide and watch for her reaction this time. I leave the folded paper under her windshield and drive away, smiling to myself. This message reads:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I failed English

So this is all I’ve got

Wednesday’s note is a simple:

I dare you to have a fabulous day.

Thursday’s note is one word:

[REDACTED]

Friday’s note is more for me than for her:

This ticket entitles you to one free friend hug.

Length of hug: until it gets weird.

Value: priceless.

ONE FRIEND HUG

(no funny business)

Saturday’s note is particularly fun. Honoring Maggie’s love of horror movies, I bought a magazine and spent Thursday night cutting out letters, serial-killer style. The creepy note reads, I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.

I hurry to her Jeep, ducking and diving around the parked cars, like a neurotic, not-very-good burglar. I tuck the note under the wiper, laughing while picturing her reading it. The visual’s so amusing I decide I need to witness her reaction.

Resuming my hiding spot behind my tree, I wait, but I didn’t plan this well. I’m not sure of Maggie’s schedule on Saturdays and could be here for hours. I reach for my phone to scroll through social media and maybe send Delilah the message: THE KILLER IS IN YOUR HOUSE. I’ve been bitten by the horror-line bug. But Maggie appears surprisingly early.

Not only does she seem sprightly this Saturday morning, she doesn’t do her usual swish-sway-saunter. She dashes to her Jeep, nearly tripping in her rush to get there, the upward twist of her lips slaying me. She looks like a kid at Christmas. Or in her case, a kid at Chanukah. She yanks the letter out from under the wiper, takes one look at it, then doubles over, leaning on her Jeep while she cracks up.

Point in the Wooing column for me.

chapter fifteen

“I told you I wanted to go hiking,” Maggie says, clinging to the rock wall at our left, “not plummet to my death, where wild animals will tear me apart before rescuers can extricate my mangled body.”

“At least you’re not dramatic.” I keep one hand protectively on her hip, in case she slips on the ledge.

“This isn’t dramatic.” Her body is rigid, but she glances at me over her shoulder. “If we get off here alive, I will scream at you so loud your head will explode. That’s dramatic.”

I chuckle. “Noted. But I promise, where we’re going is worth it.”