When they reached Griffin’s street, a TV camera had joined the cluster of people. Lana seemed to shrink into the passenger seat.
“It’ll pass,” he said as security ushered them through. “Always does.”
“For you, sure. But what if being papped with you once or twice is the enduring mark I leave on the world, the story my grandchildren tell? Forever the ‘refreshingly dumpy’ librarian who had a fling with a star.”
“Refreshinglysmart. Refreshingly funny. Refreshingly beautiful. Just … refreshing.”
She scoffed, though he meant every word. He parked in the garage, noting that Darnell’s rental car was gone—Griffin had asked Mitch to return it and pay for the damage. He killed the engine and soaked in the backwash of silence.
How great would it be if this were normalcy? Not the paps outside, but coming home with Lana at the end of a long day, even if they were both a little raw. Listening to her stories of new books and customer dramas and Dewey decimal arguments. Sharing his own stories. Now and then popping up to see her parents and eating homemade food and leaving with a box of produce. He might not have a normal life, but he could hitch a ride on the fantasy of hers.
Like they were anywhere near a point of starting anything, let alone making a decision to continue. It was less about quitting while they were ahead and more about quitting before they got anywhere.
“Griffin?”
He realized he’d been staring into space, or at least, his father’s vintage Bimota KB2 motorcycle.
“‘Are you the new person drawn toward me?’” he quoted. “To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose.’”
She smiled, and he wished he could live in that smile forever. “Whitman. I’m not sure you are all that different, Griffin Hart, though your life definitely is. But like the song says, we have tonight.”
She brushed her fingertips through his hair. He leaned over and kissed her, and she responded with an urgency that suggested she too sensed their hours together were numbered. She understandably wanted nothing to do with his life, and he couldn’t exactly slip into hers, not without upending it. They would find Vivien—or they wouldn’t—and that would be it.
They coasted into an evening that belonged to the fantasy version of Griffin and Lana’s story. The one where he cooked a meal from her parents’ produce, and they drank wine and talked until the sun disappeared into the ocean and the sky shifted through a palette of purple and salmon until it blackened, the city lights suspended below on a silvery magic carpet. Only then did they slowly undress each other with their hands and their lips. If it were a film, it’d be a montage to a sultry Lana Del Rey song, filled with longing glances from the hero—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the heroine too.
By morning, Darnell still hadn’t called, and his phone was going straight to voicemail. On any other day that wouldn’t give Griffin a moment’s pause, but he had a bad feeling. They were planning to try Walter Shepherd again that morning. After that, he’d drive to Darnell’s.
Lana emerged from the bathroom, her hair loosely piled on her crown. She was back in her own clothes, which the housekeeper had laundered. As she looked out at the hazymorning skyline, Griffin slipped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. “You’re quiet this morning,” he said.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not this quiet.”
She inhaled, and he felt the breath fill her and release. “Can I ask you something, and can you try to be honest?”
“Uh, I guess?”
“It’s just… No, never mind.”
“You know you have to go through with this, now.”
“I don’t know how to say it without sounding like it’s self-doubt talking.”
“Is it self-doubt talking?”
“Probably.”
“Try me. I won’t judge.”
She turned, placing her palms on the front of his T-shirt. “Why are we here? Why are we doing this?”
He framed her hips with his hands. “Are you talking logistics, or attraction, or is this existential?”
She didn’t laugh. “Is this just convenience—we happen to be in the same intimate space and we’re going through some stuff, well, I am, at least, and it’s stressful, so this has happened? Or, shit, am I being needy and whiney and letting all those headlines get into my brain, and actually I just need to go with the flow and enjoy it while it…” She looked at the pool’s unbroken surface. “It just seems unlikely that if you had a choice, you would choose… It’s okay, I’ll shut up now. I can hear how this sounds. It’s this self-sabotage thing I do—even when I can see myself doing it, I’m helpless to stop it.”
“No, no, don’t shut up. The absolute simple truth is that I’m here with you because I want to be.”
She grimaced.
