“I want to take the comics and turn them into a series,” I say, my voice practically buzzing with excitement.
“A series?”
“Yeah. We could do a movie, but what I really want is an adult cartoon series. ThinkBoJack HorsemanorBig Mouth.And I want Joy Harris to co-write.”
Molly reaches across the table, grabbing my hands. “Do it! Youhaveto do this!”
Her skin is soft against mine, her enthusiasm infectious. I barely hear what she’s saying because my mind is too busy memorizing the way her hands feel in mine, the way her eyes sparkle with excitement, how her smile makes the world feel just a little more bright.
I’m so fucking gone for this girl.
I grin at her. “I’ve already put feelers out.” My smile falters as reality sets in. “Unfortunately, Joy is elusive.”
“She won’t return your calls?”
I shake my head, leaning back with a sigh. “She’s a ghost. Ot a hermit, maybe? I’ve had to jump through fifteen thousand hoops just to track down a PO box address.”
Molly frowns thoughtfully. “What are you doing in the meantime?”
I shrug, picking at the brownie with my fork. “Prep what I can. I’ve started putting together a pitch package—concept art, storyboards, some preliminary scripts. I’m trying to build something that will grab her attention. If I can just get her to listen, I think she’ll love the idea.”
Molly’s smile softens as she studies me. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What look?”
“The one you always get when you’re chasing something you care about.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. I wonder if she realizes how much of that drive is sitting right across from me.
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice as casual as I can, “this is worth chasing.”
She squeezes my hand again before letting go, and I immediately miss the warmth of her touch.
“You’ll get her,” Molly says confidently. “If anyone can convince Joy Harris, it’s you.”
I smile, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “You think so?”
“Iknowso,” she says, taking another bite of brownie.
I watch her chew, then grin. “Maybe I should hire you as my hype woman.”
She smirks, licking chocolate off her fork. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“Probably not,” I say, laughing. “But I’d try.”
She laughs with me, and for a moment, everything else—Joy Harris, work, my carefully buried feelings for Molly—fades into the background. It’s just us, sitting in the warm glow of the coffee shop, sharing a brownie and a moment I never want to end.
“Are you doing anything else?” Molly asks.
“Trying to write our next project.”
“And you’re struggling?”
“My muse wants to write a rom-com.”
She chuckles, her smile teasing. “I can’t see Sam going for that.”
My lips twitch into a grin. “Not unless I throw in some deep and meaningful character progression where two worlds collide, with an overarching feminist narrative of strength and fundamental change from the patriarchy.”
