Maybe it’s good he’s acting this way. We are two people whose paths are crossing a second time. We’re not friends, we’re not lovers. We’re little more than business partners with a not-legal contract signed on a paper napkin. There’s no need for me to feel hurt by his cool response to me.
For the next twenty minutes I sit and listen as Klein and Cecily volley conversation and ideas. Klein appears to be far less uncomfortable than he was when we first started this process.
“Posts began two days ago,” Cecily says, biting on the end of her pen. “As Klein requested, we started with utmost honesty. I drafted the captions with Klein’s help, keeping in mind that he is a storyteller at heart, and we want each caption to feel like a story.” Cecily scrolls on her trackpad, bringing up the social media account. The first photo is of Klein sitting on a couch, leaning forward with a laptop open on a rustic wood table.
“Nice picture,” I comment, careful to keep anyemotion from my voice. “Earthy, moody, it’s giving me academia vibes.”
“I got coffee with Eden last weekend,” Klein explains. “She took it.”
He says it carefully, like he wants me to know who took the photo. Who he was with. It doesn’t fit with how aloof he was when he walked in here.
Cecily continues. “Here is this morning’s post. Klein’s home bookshelves.”
I recognize them immediately, though I’ve seen them only once. Organized by author, the books are mostly hardbacks, except for a section of leather-bound journals. The caption readsTrading in books for the beach. See you in paradise.
“He already has a hundred followers,” I comment. Grabbing my phone, I press and swipe the screen until I am one of KleinTheWriter’s followers. The number on the screen on the wall increases to a hundred and one.
Cecily nods. “The response has been more than I’d hoped for. To be fair, I’ve been pulling some strings. Sending his account to my friends and asking them to follow and interact. They’ve sent it on to their friends, even though I didn’t ask it of them. It’s because, like I told both of you”—her gaze flits between us parentally—“people are interested in what you’re doing. Yourauthenticityandhonestycaught their attention.”
“Is this where I say you were right all along and I shouldn’t have argued?” Klein asks.
“Sure,” Cecily responds, looking at her screen and logging in to her content planner. She opens a folder to show fifty stock photos, mostly books and bookish flatlays. “Here’s what I have for filler until you leave. What I need from both of you are photos while you’re on the island. I set up a shared album and added you both to it. You don’t have to do faces, but I want beachy goodness. Think sand on Paisley’s shoulder while she gazes out at the ocean.” Cecily eyes Klein meaningfully. “We’re telling a story.” She snaps her laptop closed. “I have a call in five minutes, so if you don’t need anything else from me...?”
I shake my head.
“Take photos,” she repeats firmly. “Copious amounts. When you think you’ve taken too many, take more.” Addressing Klein only, she says, “Have a safe flight. Enjoy your trip.”
And then she’s gone, the conference door closing softly behind her.
Silence descends. It’s so unlike our recent interactions that I’m starting to panic. My mind hurtles twenty different directions, but mainly it’s screaming outhow are you going to fly across the country with this guy when he’s pulled a one-eighty?
A deal is a deal, and my alternatives are none. In a brittle voice, I say, “I guess I’ll see you at the airport on Saturday morning.”
Reaching up, I yank the pen from my makeshift updo. My hair tumbles down around my shoulders.
Klein stares.
“Do you have something to say, Madigan?”
“You used to wear your hair like that in class.”
I clear my throat. “I never remember a hair tie.”
“Are we good, Ace?”
I bristle at the name I love. “Why do we keep having to ask that question?”
“Because we keep doing awkward shit.”
“You were so weird when you walked in here.”
“I was nervous.”
His honesty knocks me sideways. Relief floods me.He was nervous. It takes a few seconds for me to regain my train of thought. “What were you nervous about?”
“Seeing you.”
“But we’ve been talking nonstop for three weeks.”
