She leans back in her chair, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “This is everything you’ve wanted, right? No more romance scripts, just crime fic. Isn’t it amazing?”
I open my mouth to agree, but nothing comes out. She’s right. This is everything I’ve wanted. Or… it was, wasn’t it?
I think back to the romance books I used to dread, the over-the-top love stories that made me roll my eyes so hard they practically got stuck. Somewhere along the way, though, they stopped being a chore. I started looking forward to them, to reading the banter, the confessions, the ridiculously grand gestures.
I started to… like them.
And now? I’m supposed to be thrilled about this new chapter. Ishouldbe thrilled. But I’ve only gotten a taste of love, only read a handful of romance books, and I want more. I want the comfort of a predictable ending, the joy and ache of the slow burn, the way two people can hate each other on one page and fall apart in each other’s arms on the next. I want the longing looks across crowded rooms. The hand brushing another just to feel it. The “I hate you” that really means “I’m terrified of how much I want you.” The second chances and the big speeches in the rain.
Romance books showed me that no one is too damaged to be loved, no meet-cute too ridiculous to spark something real. They made me believe that the right person won’t fix you, but they’ll sit with you while you heal.
And because of them, love’s a story I want to keep reading even if I know how it ends.
“Wow,” I manage, shoving the thought away. “That’s incredible news, Celeste. Really.”
“Of course it is,” she says, oblivious to the way my voice wavers. “This is just the beginning, Scarlett. We’re going to take this podcast to heights you can’t even imagine. You and me—we’reunstoppable.”
I try to match her energy, but it feels like I’m dragging my body through wet cement.
By the time I leave her office, the buzz of her excitement is a distant echo. The hallway feels cold and too quiet, but my thoughts are loud enough to make up for it.
Unstoppable, she said.
So why do I feel like I’m spinning in circles?
“What did the lawyer say?” Ethan asks as he fiddles with the edge of his sleeve. His dark blond hair flops over one eye, and there’s a bruise still fading on his cheekbone.
I set the phone down on the counter and grab a stack of plates from the cabinet. My heart has been hammering throughout the call with Steve for the last forty minutes. “The judge set up an emergency hearing for Friday.”
“Friday?I guess that’s what they mean by emergency, huh?”
I can tell he’s trying to be funny, but he’s too tense for it. “It’ll be fine, Ethan,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. Truthfully, he’s not nearly as terrified as I am, but one of us needs to play the part of the steady rock, right? AndI’mthe adult here.
He leans against the counter. The scab near his eyebrow is almost gone, but he keeps touching it like it still itches. “You really think so?”
“Steve will prep us. He’s already gathering evidence, getting people to write character statements, all the things we need. Everything will be okay.”
“And if it’s not?” He avoids my gaze. “What happens if we lose?”
I swallow hard, trying to push past the lump in my throat. I can’t let him see how scared I am. Not now.
“Uh…” I start, my voice faltering for just a second. “Then we try again. We appeal. We don’t give up.”
His eyes search mine. “So you won’t let them take me to Virginia?”
“Never,” I say firmly, stepping closer to him. “Not to Virginia, not anywhere you don’t want to go to.”
“Okay,” he says, and the single word carries a weight that nearly breaks my heart. “I just hate that it has to be this way.”
I place a hand on his arm. “I know,” I say, squeezing gently. “But you don’t have to handle it alone. I’m here, okay?”
He rubs at the edge of his jaw like it aches, then shrugs. “Okay,” he says, a hint of relief in his voice. “Is Rafael coming over for dinner?”
“I hope so, because he’s providing the food,” I say, reaching for the napkins.
“Awesome.” Ethan drops into a chair and pulls his phone from his pocket, and on cue, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” I say, my heart skipping just a little as I head to the door.
