Stevie’s eyes went a little tight. “Next?”
“Yeah. After tonight,Much Adois finished. Do you have any auditions lined up or plays you know are happening around the city?”
“Oh,” Stevie said, then pressed her mouth together.
“I know you don’t want to do community theater again,” Iris said, then nudged Stevie’s arm. “You do need to get paid.”
Stevie nodded, but just blinked up at the ceiling. She’d been doing this a lot lately, or at least, anytime they talked about the play, or the plays Stevie had done in the past, her dream roles and goals for the future. Iris was always the one to bring up Stevie’s career, and Stevie was usually the one to shut it down. Iris let her, because she understood the uncertainty of your next step—in the few months after closing down Paper Wishes, before she decided to give writing a try, she’d burned through her savings, a constant panic simmering just under her skin. Sure, Iris knew Stevie needed a plan, but she certainly didn’t want to insult Stevie’s abilities to figure out her own shit.
“I don’t know,” Stevie said quietly. “I guess we’ll see.” She heaved herself out of the bed, turned to kiss Iris on the forehead, then headed toward the shower.
IRIS WAS SITTINGcross-legged on Stevie’s bed, completely entrenched in Tegan and Briony’s world, trying to figure out how to address Fiona’s note about Tegan’s too-weak motivations in the third act breakup, when there was a knock on the door.
At first, she ignored it. This wasn’t her apartment, and her brain was right on the cusp of a breakthrough, she could feel it. She knew not all romance readers liked the quintessential third act breakup, and Iris had read her share of novels that didn’t feature it and enjoyed the change immensely, but for her, she loved that drama-filled split. She loved the pain of it, the emotions, the obstacles the characters had to face in themselves and their relationship to truly be together, all of this followed by the couple’s blissful reconciliation.
She’d just started to type, planning on adding to Tegan’s interiority, when the knock sounded again.
“Iris?”
Iris froze at her name.
“It’s Ren,” the person said.
Iris closed her laptop and hurried toward the front door. “Sorry,” she said when she unlocked and opened it, revealing Ren in a slim gray suit, black dress shirt and tie, and bright red heeled oxfords. “Shit, you look amazing.”
Ren smiled. “Thanks. Big night and all.”
Iris nodded as Ren stepped inside. “Stevie’s not here.”
“I know.”
Ren walked farther into the apartment, their hands in their pockets.
“Oh,” Iris said. “You’re here to see me, then?”
Ren turned to look at her, their heavily lined eyes a little glassy. “Yeah.”
“Is everything okay?” Iris frowned. “Oh god, is Stevie all right?”
“No, she’s fine.”
“Okay, so...”
“Can we sit down?” Ren asked.
“I’d rather just get on with it,” Iris said. Everything in her was on high alert and she folded her arms.
“Fair enough,” Ren said, then sighed. “Look, I just need to ask you a question.”
Iris lifted her brows, waiting.
“Has Stevie told you about New York?” Ren asked.
Iris blinked, processing Ren’s words. “New York.”
Ren closed their eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Ren, what are you talking about?”
