“And that’s why you’re a writer,” she mused with a smile. “You make up stories for every scenario.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t own anything cute enough to wear to one of your classes,” I replied. “The answer will always be no.”
“Maybe that’s the issue here?” Meredith said as she stood up. “You lead with no. Maybe you should try saying yes for a change?”
I opened my mouth to bicker with her, then snapped it shut. The woman knew how to drop a zinger.
“Is that really how I come across?” I asked tentatively.
“Not always, but ever since Leo...”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence.
It wasn’t like Leo and I had been together long, and we’d never even come close to admitting how we felt about each other in the four months we’d hung out. But the man had outrightwooedme like he’d studied romance novels. Not just the obvious stuff, like flowers and nice dinners. He was creative, like the time he bought me the book about a French seamstress I’d mentioned in passing and tucked in a vintage postcard from Paris as the bookmark. I’d used Google to translate the flowy script message on it and discovered that it was a love note from 1957, addressed toma moitié, “my other half.”
Four months wasn’t long enough to admit out loud that I was falling in love with him, but the words had been taking root in my heart.
Until he ghosted me.
I thought I was going crazy at first, or he’d died and everyone knew but me. I was still mortified by how stalkerish I’d gotten as I tried to put the pieces of his disappearance together. Finally, a photo on his Insta feed featuring a close-up shot of his hand entwined with delicate, ballet slipper pink–nailed fingers solved the mystery for me.
He was alive and well, and I’d been replaced without an explanation. And now, weeks later, I was still questioning if anything I’d experienced with him was real. Not exactly a great foundation for creating heartwarming HEAs.
“Mere, I don’t have thetimeto say yes to anything right now,” I protested weakly. “My deadline...”
“Yeah, but I’ve seen what happens when you’re inspired,” she replied. “You plop down on that futon, go into the drone zone, and the next thing you know you’ve finished a couple billion words. You can do this, Brooke.” Her eyes went soft as she watched me. “You just need to find some sunshine, literalandmetaphorical, and then your muse will find you.”
I hated the prickly sensation in my nose at her gentle coaching. Lately, my baseline reaction to anything emotional, from reels with rescue dogs to feedback from my editor, was tears. I blamed Leo for leaving me feeling like the top layer of my skin had been scrubbed off.Everythingchafed.
But each day I rotted on my couch was another one lost to him. Leo was out there living his best life with a beautiful girl I’d learned was named Isodora, and I was watching it unfold online while wearing a mayonnaise-stained T-shirt.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I finally admitted, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “Maybe I’ll take a break and go for a walk?”
“Thereshe is,” Meredith cheered. “How about right now, with me?”
She knew me—that my good intentions would probably flame out into me staring at my laptop screen and stressing about each passing, unproductive minute.
“Okay.” I slapped it closed. “Look at me; I’m saying yes.”
I think we were equally shocked when I stood up.
“Where are you headed?” I asked, finally noticing her pink tank top and short, pleated skort. It was workout wear—no surprise there—but not her usual leggings and sports bra for class.
“Colton convinced me to go to his little pickleball club in Chelsea,” she explained. “Which I guess isn’t so little because the guest fee is sixty bucks.”
Meredith’s boyfriend, Colton, was a certified quilted-vest-and-navy-slacks finance bro who jumped on trends, like moving his dealmaking from the golf course to the pickleball court.
“He finally wore you down?” I asked as I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck like I was getting ready for a marathon and not a stroll down the block.
“Yeah, because we made a bet. If I win, he has to come to my 7 a.m. rise and shine class, and if he wins, I have to play again.”
Despite her never having stepped on a court, my money was on Meredith. She was one of those people who could master anything physical, from pole dancing to paddleboarding.
I changed out of my pajamas and into shorts and a stain-free T-shirt, and even shoved my hair into a semi-presentable micro-ponytail.
Leaving my bubble made me feel twitchy before I even crossed the threshold. I had to convince myself that all I’d miss in the thirty minutes I’d be outside was beating myself up for not being productive. And maybe I’d luck into some inspiration?
We stepped outside, and the first few seconds of summer heat on my skin felt like a hug after being in air-conditioning for way too long. Summer in New York was brutal, which meant that little moments of joy like this one needed to be celebrated.
