Sitting in Blake’s living room, Chunky passed out asleep with his nose in his once-again empty bowl and Blake relaxing beside me with an arm thrown casually over the back of the couch, I make a decision I hope I don’t regret. I scan for wood to touch and see the sign I’m looking for.

Blake said he put things all over for me to always have something to fulfill my superstition, and I believed him, but seeing it with my own two eyes is a very different thing. There . . . not just the wood coffee table, but the stack of wood and marble coasters on the end table by the chair. Those weren’t there last time I was here. I get up to check the kitchen.

Assuming my destination, Blake says, “Bathroom’s the second door on the left.”

I’ll take the opening, but first . . . In the kitchen, I see new wooden spoons in the utensil canister and a butcher block cutting board set out on the island.

Down the short hall to the bathroom, I quickly pee and wash my hands before staring at myself in the mirror.

“You can do this, Zoey Walker,” I whisper to my reflection. I’ve never been good at pep talks. The best I can usually offer is a hard-edged ‘at least no one died this time’, but I want to have different expectations.

I want to trust, I want to be a person who believes in silver linings and positivity despite my wealth of experience to the contrary. I shake my head, loosening the hold painful memories have on me, and point at myself in the mirror, firmly telling my reflection, “Holly is fine. Jacob is fine. Blake is fine. It’s okay to want this. It’s okay to need this. Nothing bad will happen.”

I can hear the lie in my own words. I correct myself, searching for truth and not wishes. “You’re already too deep in this, in him. Might as well . . .”

It’s all I’ve got, pitiful as it may be. I shrug, my eyes wide and showing the fear I feel inside. The reality is, I’m already involved with Blake, and if my curse is going to strike, there’s nothing I can do to stop it now.

“He’s not-scared enough for the both of us,” I remind myself, having repeated Blake’s words so often they’ve become almost a mantra of hope. While I don’t think anyone’s going to call me Pep Talk Queen anytime soon, they’re enough to bolster my hopes. Especially with the cherry-topper of Blake’s faith that it’ll be okay.