When it becomes clear that Ivy plans to continue her job search from the comfort of my couch, I decide there’s no point putting off my own work, either.
There’s a flurry of Pulse notifications when I log in. I check the statistics from my last upload, and they’ve doubled again. It seems “Guarding the Princess” is on track to be the top audio on the platform this month, and I have requests for sequels piling up.
A new prompt catches my eye, tagged underboyfriend, which I’ve been avoiding for a while now.
Truly, the jokes write themselves at this point.
Curious, I open it. It’s an anniversary setup; lovers celebrating by trying something new, and while I would normally scroll past, the idea snags my attention.
How would I do it? Ivy and I— if our ruse wasn’t fictional— would have a year’s worth to catch up on.
I’d start with something grand. If something’s worth saying, it’s worth saying as loudly as possible. How did Ivy phrase it?With my whole chest.Yes, that’s how I’d tell her how I felt.
For a while, I sit with my fingers hovering over the keys. It’s a wonder Ivy doesn’t question it, but she does lean her weight farther into me, humming a tune I’m not familiar with.
I’ve been purposefully avoiding my own desires when working— it’s too easy to blur the professional lines in a job where I’m simulating what I sound like when I come— but if I’m honest, I’ve been using it as an excuse to avoid it outside of work as well.
But it’s not difficult to imagine what I’d want.
Beside me, Ivy is slowly repurposing her résumé into an online application, wearing a stern look, as though she’s preparing for battle. Despite her objections, she’s forging ahead, unafraid to face the consequences, and I find myself wanting to do the same.
If the wife I imagine as I write so happens to have black hair and a penchant for trouble, then who will know but me?
Once I’ve opened the floodgates, it’s simple, and two hours later, I have a draft I don’t hate and two more started. It’s been years since words flowed this easily.
I stand, stretching my back with a groan, and boil the kettle for a second round. Ivy is grumbling as she fills in application after application, swearing every time she has to re-enter “the same goddamn information that’s in my résumé. Seriously, it’s like they don’t want me to apply.”
I lean against the kitchen counter and watch her, liking how well she fits. It’s an intoxicating future, one I never gave myself permission to imagine before, where I could find someone who accepted what I do, who I am.
Hell, she’s met my family, and she’s still here. That alone makes her incredible.
I have no interest in a life built around wealth, but a life built around her? That is something I can aspire to.
CHAPTER26
TELL ME MORE
IVY
Confession? I might be a little addicted to Lincoln’s apartment. The shine, the space, the man who fills it.
It’s been a month since the redundancy, and one week since I started a temporary archiving assignment that might be more depressing than my old job.
It’s all too easy to end the workday and collapse onto his sofa (or into his arms). If he has a problem with me invading his space, then he’s a way better actor than I thought, because every time he sees me, his smile melts my heart into a puddle. If it isn’t real, I’m going to have to stop dating for the rest of my life because nothing and no one will ever compare to the way he makes me feel.
The job is fine. I hate it, but it’s a job, so…
I text Mum every day, and we chat, but we aren’t really talking. She’ll send me updates on the baby, and I’ll reassure her that I’m not living on the streets yet, but that’s all. I miss her, but I don’t know how to fix this without simply giving up what I want, and I can’t do that yet.
I just need a little more time.
At the end of my second week in archival hell, I’m starting to rethink that opinion, but I’ve had twenty more job rejections today, so bring on week three, I guess.
On the plus side, I’ve introduced Lincoln to the miracle ofLove Island(although seriously, how he managed to avoid it is genuinely shocking to me), and it’s worth it for his commentary.
After our third episode tonight, our stomachs start rumbling in harmony, and I invade his enormous kitchen rather than head home.
Lincoln leans back against the island, watching me. “Careful, you look too good in here. I may never let you leave.”
