Penelope's POV
The clock read six thirty when I finally dragged myself through the apartment door after what felt like the longest day in recorded history. Despite managing to salvage some dignity in the break room conversation earlier, I was completely wiped out. The lingering embarrassment from the weekend party, mixed with that strange comfort I'd found sharing disaster dating stories, plus that cryptic message that wouldn't leave my head, had left me running on empty.
My shoes hit the floor the moment I stepped inside, my bag landed somewhere on the couch, and I discovered my refrigerator situation was borderline tragic. One yogurt past its expiration date and mystery leftovers I couldn't even identify stared back at me.
"Pizza wins again," I announced to no one, fishing out my phone to call my go-to Italian place.
