Page 4 of The Broken Hearts Club

He murmured, “You’re right,” but the look of disappointment was still there.

I felt bad for him, so I said, “There’s actually a great place to watch the sunset here in my neighborhood. Want me to show you?”

He perked up at that and nodded. I grabbed the remote from my sun visor, and after he followed me out of the garage, I pressed the button and shut the door behind us.

Then I led the way to Mission Dolores Park, which was only a block from my house. The park itself was great, but I’d brought him here for the panoramic view, with San Francisco’s iconic skyline off in the distance.

Our timing was perfect. As the sky turned pink and orange, he whispered, “It’s magical. Thank you so much for bringing me here, Miller.” When I glanced at him, he was smiling, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. I secretly admired the way he could let himself cry like that.

We stood there until all the colors had faded from the sky. Then he grabbed me in an embrace and said, “Thank you again. That was amazing.”

I muttered, “You’re welcome,” and awkwardly hugged him. He felt even tinier than I’d expected under that giant T-shirt.

Collie fell into step with me as we left the park. “I’m really sorry about running into you,” he said, “and taking your car out of commission for the next couple of days.”

“It’s okay. All I have planned this weekend is a baseball game, and I can walk there.”

Once we got back to the house, I opened the garage door so he could grab his stuff, and I asked him, “Are you staying in a hotel until you get settled in San Francisco?”

“Nope. Way too expensive.”

“Are you staying with a friend?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know a soul in San Francisco.”

“Then where were you planning to stay?”

“In the purple palace.”

“What’s that?”

He went into the garage, slid open the van’s side door, and reached inside to pull a string, which turned on a small chandelier. Then he indicated the interior with a flourish and exclaimed, “Ta da!” The floor, walls, and ceiling were all covered with purple shag carpeting. It looked like what would happen if you climbed inside a Muppet.

“You were planning to sleep in your van?”

“I’m planning to live in it,” he said. “It’ll be weeks before I can afford to rent a room, and that’s only after I find a job.”

“How, though? Does it even have a bathroom, or a kitchen?”

“I bought a camp stove before I left Idaho, and in place of a toilet⁠—”

“No, don’t tell me.”

He turned to me and asked, “Is it okay if I spend the weekend in your garage? I promise to be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“No way.”

His expression fell. “Oh. Okay.”

“You can stay in my guest room,” I said. “It doubles as my office, but I’m not planning to work this weekend, so it’s all yours.”

Collie beamed at me. “Thank you, Miller! That’s really nice of you.”

“Yeah, no problem. Grab your stuff, and your cat.”

Now he seemed confused. “What cat?” I pointed at his Cat Mom T-shirt, and he looked down at himself and exclaimed, “Oh! Nope, no cat. Maybe someday.” I fought the urge to ask follow-up questions.

He dove into the van and emerged a few seconds later with a toothbrush, a packet of ramen, and a fat, plush alligator that was almost as big as he was. Then he announced, “All set!”