I laugh. “That sounds like an amazing time for you, but . . .” I consider what to tell him and settle on the truth. I’m not giving away any of Dolly’s secrets. “I’m probably going to check on Dolly.”

Of course Alex, being himself, is concerned. “Is she okay? Is there something I can do?”

I shrug. “Sometimes she just needs someone to sit with her.”

He nods, getting it. “Can I help?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wakefulness weaves its fingers through my sleepy mind. I roll over, pulling a pillow over my head in anticipation of drowning out the thumping music.

I can’t wait to do this day all over again. Maybe I can push Alex for some heavy petting or something. He’s too damn chivalrous.

Wait.

I remove the pillow from over my head.

There’s no music. No thumping. No sprinkle me.

I sit up in bed. Why is the music gone? I don’t oversleep. I don’t sleep through E-40. I don’t wake up before it starts. Not ever.

What if I’ve gone deaf? Is that possible?! I pick up the lamp on my side table and chuck it on the floor.

It doesn’t shatter, it thumps to the ground. But it does make a noise, and I can hear it. Not deaf.

I pick up my phone. It’s still dead.

Knock knock knock.

That’s the same. Sort of. Is it louder, or does it seem louder because there’s no music overpowering . . . ?

I open the door.

Alex.

I blink at him, my mouth agape.

Alex is standing at my doorstep, his arms full of brown Trader Joe’s grocery bags. “I got bagels and coffee and some fresh fruit and stuff.” He breezes past me.

I stare into the hallway outside my door. I can’t move. I’m a statue of shock.

I can’t—I can’t believe it. It’s different. It’s really different.

My whole body flashes hot and cold. I can’t come to grips with this. After all this time, after all these days, days that I had gotten used to living, didn’t expect to change, had let go of wanting to change and . . . now it’s tomorrow.

“I also got some creamer and sugar. Real sugar and the fake sugar and vegan sugar.” He’s in my kitchen, pulling stuff out of the bags and setting them on the counter. “I wasn’t sure what you preferred.” He looks up.

Our eyes lock.

I stare at him. “You’re here.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “I woke up early. Not because your couch is super uncomfortable or anything, but because it’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever slept on.”

A startled laugh escapes me.