Chapter
One
Dominic: Cecily, hi. It's Dominic Bellinger. Klein's cousin.
Cecily: Hello there, Dominic. You're also Klein's literary agent, I'm told.
Dominic: Guilty. Klein gave me your number, I hope that's ok. He promised he asked you first.
Cecily: He asked. I hear you want to take me out to celebrate his (and, by extension, your) recent professional win.
Dominic: And yours, too. It deserves at least a cocktail.
Cecily: What does it deserve at most?
Dominic: I'd tell you, but then...
Cecily: You'd have to kill me?
Dominic: ...
Dominic: ...
Dominic: ...
Dominic: I'm over here trying to think of something witty to say, but I'm coming up empty. You're the one who's good with one-liners. I saw your captions for Klein's social media posts. One might say if it weren't for your clever digital marketing campaign he wouldn't have the attention of a publisher.
Cecily: I'll never turn down a compliment, so thank you.
Dominic: You're welcome. I land in Phoenix next Tuesday at eleven. Happy hour that afternoon?
Cecily: I'll text you when and where on Tuesday morning. Looking forward to meeting you, Dominic.
Dominic: Sounds great. Looking forward to meeting you too, Cecily.
CHAPTER 2
Cecily
Meetingthe cousin of a client for a drink that may or may not be considered a date is a risky proposition.
May Be A Date. That's what I'll call it.
Potential downside is that it doesn't go well, and we will face a lifetime of awkward conversations at big life events of the person we have in common. Potential upside is... Well, I don't know. Feels silly to sayhappily ever after,especially since I'm ninety percent positive I don't believe in the concept for myself. That last ten percent functions like an insurance policy. I'm not comfortable cutting myself off from something completely, so I give myself a little wiggle room. Just because something isimprobabledoesn't mean it'simpossible.
"Not the red," I mutter, tossing the deep V-neck dress to the side. It flutters onto the heap of considered and quickly discarded items of clothing on my bed. For the record, I look fabulous in red. But my coworker, Paloma, once told me red is for hookers, and even though I know she's wrong, I worry she is slightly right. I think it's in her delivery. She speaks with confidence, and that makes me believe whatever she says. It could also be her Portuguese accent.
I'm considering my backside in the full-length mirror that hangs on my closet door when my sister calls. Tapping the speaker button, I say, "I'm nervous, Kerrigan."
No need for a greeting. We've been texting all afternoon.
"It's only a drink," she reminds me. "Don't think of it like a date, which it might not be."
"Right." Except it feels a lot more like a date than a friendlyyay us!meeting. The tone of our texts was flirtatious. I've studied them from every angle, I'm embarrassed to say.
Looking forward to meeting you, Dominic.I hear it spoken in my voice: sultry, soft, an emphasis of the hardcat the end of his name.
Sounds great. Looking forward to meeting you too, Cecily.Because I've never heard him speak, I imagine how he sounds: a deep timbre that suggests worn leather boots, well-dressed but not fanciful.
