A pause.Fine, I asked Sienna to ask Leah.
And then,You never answered my question.
I’m on a boat,Emma wrote.Have regrets. Leah lured me here with promises of free champagne, but it comes with a side of small talk and wearing heels. What are you doing?
Texting was, in Emma’s opinion, the best thing that ever happened to dating. Flirting with someone—inwriting. Away from the sweaty palms and awkward menu decisions, connecting at a safe distance through words that could be double-checked and polished. Lovely. Too bad it was considered customary to follow up with a physical meeting sooner or later.
Except she didn’t feel that way with him, did she? Despite all the nerves, the tension, the sheer overwhelm of being near him—the longing to see him again tugged at her like a physical sensation. Aching even harder as she held this tiny thread of connection in her hands.
Penthouse screener party, he wrote.Smells like popcorn and self-importance. You’re the talk of the day here, by the way. Margot Robbie was just fangirling about our panel.
The corner of her mouth curved upward.
Tell her I said hi. With the whole near-death thing, I’d almost forgotten about the panel.
The three little dots winked at her.
I haven’t.
And the Internet sure hasn’t. Max keeps sending me weirder and weirder stuff. Apparently, there’s a huge subreddit with fanart of us as something called furries.
She let out another laugh, hiding it behind her glass. The breeze had picked up, but the cold didn’t bother her so much anymore. As she was trying to decide on the funniest way to answer, he started writing again.
I really enjoyed our time together today.
The text sat on her screen, glowing softly. She brushed her thumb over the words, as if she could absorb them straight into her skin.
No joke. No wink. Just . . . that. She hesitated.
Why did you stay for the reading?
Her heart stirred as she waited.
I wanted to hear you read your own words.
And maybe I had a hard time tearing my eyes away from you in my shirt.
She swallowed. The phone buzzed again.
I should probably let you get back to dazzling people,he wrote. And then:Near-death experiences aside, I had a wonderful time today.
Emma looked at the screen. A slow, cautious warmth unfurled in her chest, in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time. Unthinkable as it was, this didn’t feel like it was about casting anymore.
Me too, she typed.Goodnight, Darren.
Goodnight, Emma,he answered.Don’t use any elevators without me.
She breathed out softly, tucking her phone back into her clutch. The city lights blurred into watercolor on the water, and somewhere below, the wake was caressing the hull.
Emma watched the flecks of gold drift and scatter. A quiet thought rose in her, something almost surreal.
As if the story were slipping off the page—and spilling into her own life.
Chapter 23
Saturday morning. Way too early.
Or, well, depends on who’s asking.
