“He died in 2017. Cat sold the apartment. But I still associate this neighborhood with him. It’s... gentlemanly. Dignified.”
“I’m sorry, Reid.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “He was closing in on ninety and passed peacefully in his sleep. It’s sad, but not tragic. Cat’s words, not mine. But, you know. I am someone who knows the difference.”
I hum in agreement. I shift in my chair and slip off my shoes, folding my legs underneath me. I see Reid tracking the movement with his eyes.
“How’s your mom?” I ask.
“Living her best life in Santa Monica. She’s spending most of her time painting and taking long walks on the beach.”
“Sounds like she’s ‘romanticizing her life,’” I say.
He laughs. “Main character energy, for sure.”
He watches me take another drink, and every cell in my body is screaming for him to keep looking at me like he is, to touch me with his strong, sure hands, but continuing to avoid the little tiff we had last night feels like a lie, and that’s not the precedent I want to set. Not with Reid.
“So,” I say. “What I said before you left—”
Reid holds a palm up. “Lili, it’s fine. We don’t need to get into it again.”
I eye him sharply, curious about this reaction. Why is he deflecting? It’s been the other way around—him pushing me to be honest and me ducking around it.
“I think we do,” I say, and it comes out more easily than I expect. “I need you to know that I was reflecting on my own insecurities. I know that I’m hung up on my behavior in my marriage—I honestly can’t believe how well you probably grasp that already—and I see the mistakes I’m making in co-parenting. But I’m also punishing myself, and last night, I was punishing you. There’s just a lot I want to do better.” I move forward in my seat, urging Reid to meet my gaze. Reid sits back in his chair, breaking our eye contact.
My heart hits my throat, and the words rush out. “You’re just... you’re the best person, Reid.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You might be a little deluded about me, but I’m flattered.”
“I’m not deluded,” I say, laughing. “I am entirely objective.”
“Objective.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I unloaded my whole sob story on you yesterday. I think I do a pretty good job of keeping myself on lock, but sometimes the past...” He gives me a smirk, and I feel a breath of relief. “There’s something about seeing you that cracked something open, I guess.”
My phone dings, and I curse under my breath. “I’m sorry.” I reach down to fumble inside my bag for it. “Let me just see if this is Emme.”
I find a text from Hayes.Hearing that Resonance is considering someone else for the project. Petra Collins type, but somehow even younger. Thoughts?
I shake my head, slot my phone back in my bag, and take a long sip of my drink. Over the twelve years I’ve been working with Hayes, I’ve learned his moves: He’s going to find every excuse to be in my ear and try to force my hand.
“All good?” Reid asks.
I nod. “Not Emme. She’s probably deep in a smug, satisfied sleep. It was my agent.”
Reid cocks his head.
“There’s a potential job that came out of left field. I’m not sure if I can take it.”
When Reid dips his chin, silently prodding for more information, I give him my take: the unexpected opportunity of it, the countless complications, and the fact that they’ll move on and never give me a second thought if I say no.
“It sounds incredible, Lil,” Reid says.
“It sounds terrifying,” I counter. “It feels sobig. I don’t know if I have room for this kind of thing in my life. I can’t just disappear for three months and leave Emme to her own devices.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I don’t think there’s a difference. Not at this stage.”
“You know there’s a difference.” He leans toward me, and I catch a whiff of the whiskey, the scent of his skin—musky and clean, mixed with something that’s distinctly him.
