Rina’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re quitting your job before telling this woman how you feel about her?”
Put that way, it does sound monumentally stupid. “I was going to tell her tonight. After I talked to you.”
“Good lord.” She rubs her temples. “You really are a romantic at heart, aren’t you? No wonder you’re so good at your job.” She catches herself. “Former job.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “This is too much, too fast, isn’t it? She’s going to think I’ve lost my damn mind.”
“Probably.” Rina shrugs. “But sometimes the grand gesture pays off. Just…” She hesitates, an unusual occurrence for her. “Be prepared for the possibility that she might need time to process all this. It’s a lot.”
I nod, suddenly nervous in a way I haven’t been since my first day at Columbia Law. “Any advice?”
“Be honest. All cards on the table.” She sets her empty glass aside. “And maybe lead with ‘I’m falling in love with you’ before‘I just quit my job and took out a massive loan so we could be together.’”
Despite everything, I laugh. “Noted.”
Rina stands, signaling the end of our conversation. “Keep me updated. And if it doesn’t work out…” She gives me a pointed look. “You always have a place here. No shame in that.”
I rise too, clutching the folder of loan papers. “Thank you. For everything.”
Impulsively, I step forward and hug her. She stiffens initially—Rina isn’t exactly the hugging type—but after a moment, her arms come around me briefly before she steps back.
“Enough sentimentality for one night.” She straightens her silk pajama top. “Go get your girl, Hawkins.”
As I step back into the cool night air minutes later, the weight that has been pressing on my chest for weeks—maybe years—feels lighter. The path ahead is uncertain, fraught with financial challenges and the terrifying possibility of rejection. But for the first time since Columbia Law, since Dakota was born, since Hannah dumped me, I feel like I’m making a choice rather than reacting to circumstances beyond my control.
I pull out my phone, turn it back on, and call an Uber. It’s time to tell Sora the truth—all of it. Time to find out if the future I suddenly want more than anything is one she wants too.
The brownstone is eerily quiet as I slip through the front door. It’s well past midnight, and exhaustion weighs on my bones after the emotional conversation with Rina. But there’s one more thing I need to do tonight—one conversation I can’t wait until morning to have.
I creep up the stairs, avoiding the third step that creaks like it’s auditioning for a horror movie soundtrack. The house is dark except for a sliver of light coming from the fourth floor—Sora’s bedroom. She’s still awake.
My heart rises and falls in my chest like it’s riding a roller coaster as I approach her door. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of charming women, knowing exactly what to say and how to say it, but right now, I feel like an awkward teenager about to ask someone to prom.
I knock softly, then turn the knob.
“Aaaahh!” Sora yelps, brandishing a stainless-steel water bottle like a baseball bat. She’s cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced precariously on her knees, hair piled in a messy bun that’s tilting precariously to one side. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt with the words “I like big books and I cannot lie” stretched across her chest. “Christ, Forrest! You scared the crap out of me!”
I can’t help but smile at the sight of her—future bestselling author Sora Cho, armed with hydration to defend herself against home invaders.
“Planning to drown the burglars?” I nod at her weapon of choice.
She lowers the water bottle, her cheeks flushing adorably. “It was the closest thing at hand, you lurker. And what are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until…you know, morning.”
There’s a shadow behind her words, a careful distance in the way she’s looking at me. She thinks I’ve just come from another woman’s bed.
“Were you really going to fight off an intruder with that?” I ask, deflecting for a moment as I close the door behind me.
“This thing is solid steel and holds forty ounces of ice water. I could do some damage.” She lifts her chin defiantly. “I’ve seenenough crime shows. Go for the kneecaps, then the groin, then run.”
“Solid strategy. But maybe invest in a baseball bat. Or pepper spray. Or literally anything designed to be a weapon.”
“Noted. I’ll add ‘instruments of self-defense’ to my shopping list, right below ‘milk’ and ‘sanity.’” She sets the water bottle on her nightstand with exaggerated care. “So…why are you home so early?”
“Early?” I ask, knowing it’s almost one in the morning.
“I assumed I wouldn’t see you until morning. Dakota and I made pancake plans. We were going to save some for you.”
“That’s sweet.” I perch on the edge of her bed, suddenly very interested in the pattern of her comforter. “What are you working on so late?” I ask, nodding at her laptop.
