I love him.
He loves me.
In which case?—
Oh, God. I shouldn’t be here.
I should be with him.
Obviously.
I’m not supposed to be in Tennessee. I never considered moving there. I never even wondered what it might be like to spend a weekend away there. I never longingly watched YouTube videos of Tennessee or Nashville, watching some bright-eyed influencer list all the wonders of the place.
But now it’s the place I most want to be.
I’m not going to stay here and miss him, when I could be there, not missing him.
It’s fifteen minutes until my first appointment, but I take out my phone. I google “massage therapy licenses in Tennessee.” I type in “transfer massage therapy licenses from Massachusetts to Tennessee.”
It’s possible. It’s doable. It will take some time, but it’s not like I’ll have to retake the bar or something. There are differences, but I can do this.
And if I were a lawyer and needed to retake the bar so I could work in Tennessee, I would do that too.
Of course I would.
I’ll find a new job in Nashville. Nashville is filled with hotels and athletic teams. Someone will take me.
A knock sounds on the door, and I jump. I rush to answer it.
For a moment, I imagine Florian on the other side of the door, like we’re in a romantic comedy movie.
But when I open the door, it’s Troy.
Naturally.
Florian is in Nashville. I know that.
“Hi, Troy!” I exclaim.
Troy beams at me. “Welcome back!”
I gesture to the massage table, and Troy scrambles onto it happily.
“I am so sore,” he says. “You give the best massages.”
I smile because I do love this job, then I put massage oil over him.
“Any new injuries?” I ask.
“You haven’t been keeping up with Blizzards games?”
“Well…”
He laughs. “It’s okay. You were busy. I bet you were watching Nashville Twisters games.”
“I was,” I admit.
And I shouldn’t be here now. I glance longingly at my phone. All I want to do now is research how I can move to Nashville.
