By the time I get back to the apartment I’m practically giddy with excitement. Well, that and the margaritas. What a great day this is turning out to be.
I settle in on my bed with my laptop, ready to start writing my first official piece for Bliss Edition. But I’m so amped up I can’t focus. After everything, I’ve finally got my foot in the door. I know I might not get the permanent column, but if I write my butt off, there’s every chance Icouldget it. This is the start, the first rung on the ladder to my success. I can just feel it.
I set my laptop aside, unable to sit still. I want to celebrate, to share this news with someone. Cat and Mel already know, of course, and I’ll tell Geoff when I see him at work tomorrow. I’ll call Emily later after she finishes work, and probably text Harriet. And, well, there’s no point in telling my parents, at least not right now.
My gaze lands on Michael’s book on my nightstand and I smile. It’s been a week and half since our day out in the city. We’ve exchanged a couple of texts and that’s been fine, but now I’m itching to see him. I want to share—maybe even celebrate—this small victory with him. I’m sure, as a fellow writer, he’ll be excited for me.
I grab my phone and twirl it in my hand. I could see him, right? I know I’m trying to douse the flames of my crush, but what am I going to do, avoid him forever? I can keep it together enough to see him without losing the plot. It’s fine.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I fire off a text.
Alex:Hey! Are you free sometime soon? I got some cool news about my writing.
I toss my phone casually aside, telling myself I don’t care if he even replies. But as soon as it hits the bed, regret washes through me. What am Idoing? Why on earth would he care?
My phone vibrates and I look at it in surprise. He’s texting back already? That can’t be right. But I see it is, and my heart cartwheels at his words, my regret vanishing.
Michael:Good to hear from you! Sure, what are you up to today? I’m just at home working, so stop by if you’re around? Or we could go for coffee?
I glance up at the ceiling above me, as if I’ll somehow be able to see through to his apartment. He’s up there, right now? Would it be too crazy to go up now? There’s a shiver of anticipation through me at the thought and I realize I really, really want to see him. Just to share my news, of course.
I check my appearance in the mirror, adding a fresh coat of mascara and smoothing my hair, then climb the stairs to Michael’s apartment. As I knock, there’s a funny little flutter of nerves in my belly. And when he opens the door and his face breaks into a grin, my heart bounces against my ribs.
“Hey!” he says, stepping aside so I can enter. “Come in.”
“I hope it’s okay I just came up. I figured it was easier than texting back and forth.”
“Of course. It’s a nice surprise.” He closes the door behind me. “Sorry I haven’t been in contact much. I’m just on this deadline with my editor breathing down my neck. It’s been crazy.”
I smile, taken aback. “That’s okay. How’s it going?”
“Almost done, thank God.”
He heads into the kitchen and despite my best intentions, my eyes help themselves to the view as he reaches into the cabinet. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt—nothing fancy—but he looks delicious as always. For the briefest moment I consider wandering up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist, pressing my face into the warmth of his back, sliding my hands down to his—
“Do you want a drink or something?” He turns to catch me staring and I blush, quickly glancing away.
Shit. I’ve been here five seconds and I’ve already regressed.Get it together.
“Er, yes, please.”
“Herbal tea okay?”
“Sure.”
I let my gaze wander around his place while he fills the kettle. It’s similar to our place in terms of layout, but bigger. The walls of the living room are dark red, lined with chunky wooden bookshelves, books spilling out everywhere. There’s a worn tan leather sofa in the middle of the room and a wooden dining table between the kitchen and the living room, instead of a breakfast bar like we have. In the spot that I’m pretty sure is right above my bedroom nook, he has a desk with a computer and leather desk chair. I smile to myself, picturing him writing in that spot at night while I’m in my nook below, thinking of him.
I can’t believe I’m in Michael’s home. It feels strangely familiar, like I’ve already been here a hundred times, but then I also want to go around and look at everything, turn every item over, search for more clues about this man and who he is.
“Sorry the place is so messy,” he says, watching me as I take it all in.
“Don’t be silly.” I lean back against the counter with a grin. “It’s the right amount of cozy. Besides, books don’t count as mess.”
He chuckles as he places teabags into the mugs.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Good. I went to see a physical therapist and he gave me a few exercises to do. It should be fine in a week or so.”
