“Is it?” I ask.
“It really is.”
“You know, I read his book.”
“Oh! You finished it?”
“Uh huh.”
“And? Thoughts? Does it live up to all the hype?”
“It doesn’t have a happy ending,” I say.
“No?”
“No. It’s like a love letter that he threw out into the universe.”
“Well, I suppose that explains the mass appeal,” he replies. “Hey, didn’t you say you were planning on calling him? How’d that go?”
“I’m seeing him tonight, actually.”
“Whoa. Pump the brakes a sec. I thought you were all trepidation and turmoil about being in the same room with Beckett Nash.”
“I don’t know what I am, Evan. Other than a hot mess.”
“Well, you know what we say around here. If you’re going to be a mess, at least be a hot one.”
I laugh nervously. “Ev. I think the love letter was intended for me.”
“Wait. Seriously?”
“No,” I clarify. “I know that it was.”
“Well, that’s a juicy morsel that you should definitely follow up on.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ll say. But hey, Mel…”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe try and figure it all outbeforethe interview. Especially considering the man is engaged, you know?”
“On it, Ev.”
“Good luck, Mel. I’ll be thinking of you. Enjoy your date,” he sings.
“It’s not a date,” I reply, “but, thanks.”
***
I shouldn’t be nervous to see Beckett. I mean, he’s marrying one of the most famous singers on the planet, so the rules are pretty clearly laid out. Thewhole purpose of our meeting is just to clear the air so that we can be okay for thePeoplemagazine interview.
Right?
That’s what my brain is telling me, anyway.
This isn’t a date.
