“That’s code in the biz for rehab," Tzipi said. "He needs it. But..." She chewed her lip. "This may make the whole Kara thing even more visible. People are going to be looking back at the Baller coverage, scrutinizing photos, wondering if anything else was off."
“All the more reason we get ahead of the narrative.” Jonah set his phone down.
Tzipi nodded slowly. Then looked up at him, something vulnerable in her expression. "Jonah... why are you still doing this? Helping me? After everything?"
"Everything meaning...?"
"Meaning all of this is happening because I lied. Well, not technically, but I let you believe I was someone I wasn't. And you –" She hesitated. "You lied too. So why aren't we... I don't know, fighting about that? Why are we making breakfast and solving contract disputes like it's normal?"
Jonah turned to face her fully. "Do you want to fight more about it?"
"I –" She stopped. "I don't know. Not really?”
They stood there, hands linked, the morning sun warming the space between them.
"I'm sorry," Jonah said. “For letting you believe the whole night was real when half of it was built on me knowing something you didn't."
"Half of it was real, though." Her voice was small. "Wasn't it?"
"All of it was real. For me, anyway." He squeezed her hands. "Every word. Every moment. The only thing that wasn't real was Max. But Jonah? The guy who couldn't stop staring at you? Who wanted to know what made you laugh? Who fell so goddamn hard he practically forgot his own name?" He smiled ruefully. "That was all me."
She kissed him again, slower this time. Softer. The kind of kiss that felt like a promise instead of an escape.
They built their case of evidence side by side, but now Tzipi was hyperaware of every point of contact—his knee against hers, his hand occasionally brushing her arm as he swiped through the contract, the way he'd absently start humming while he read.
This was nice. Domestic. The kind of lazy Sunday she'd imagined having with someone, back when Lorne was alive and they'd daydream about their future.
His birthday, she realized, had come and gone yesterday.
Her life, meanwhile, was going on.
And this future – this messy, complicated, built-on-lies-that-somehow-turned-real future – this one might actually happen.
If she was brave enough to let it.
"Hey," Jonah said, breaking her spiral. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere. Just thinking."
"About?"
"About how I'm supposed to go back to LA after this. Back to my apartment and my nonprofit and my regular life." She picked at a thread on his shirt. "And how I don't really want to."
Jonah was very still. "No?"
“You want to stay?”
"Yeah."
"In New York."
"Yeah."
"Where I live."
She finally looked up at him. "Would that be crazy? We barely know each other."
"We know each other pretty well, actually. I know your lip-bite. You take your coffee black with too much sugar. You're left-handed. You care more about your sister's reputation than your own. You're brilliant at what you do. And you look really fucking good in my T-shirts."
