I’ve executed high-stakes dinner services with less anxiety than this. I have no leverage here. No angle whatsoever. There’s nothing I can do right now that doesn’t reek of desperation.
The silence is suffocating.
I’m not used to being shut out. I’m not used to not knowing how to fix something. And the longer she doesn’t respond, thelouder the question gets in my head:What if she’s already decided I’m not worth the explanation?
My jaw tightens. I don’t do well with helplessness. And right now, that’s exactly what this feels like.
“Joe!” I bark from the doorway of my room.
I’m already moving, already halfway down the stairs before I hear his footsteps in the kitchen.
“What?” he calls back, voice thick around a mouthful of something. He rounds the corner still chewing a bagel, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Hypothetically,” I start.
He takes one look at my face and groans. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“I don’t need to,” he says, taking another bite. “The only time I’ve seen you this amped up was when you tore into production. Whatever you’re thinking? It’s not good.”
I tilt my head, considering him. “How do you feel about stealing a van?”
Joe chokes on his bagel. “Excuse me?”
“Borrowing,” I correct. “Temporarily reallocating resources for the sake of excellent television.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Yeah, maybe I have. But I have to try something. I can’t keep sitting here waiting for a text that may never come.
“Hear me out,” I say, stepping closer. “This could be the shot that gets you promoted next season.”
He freezes. The chewing slows.
“It’s been three days of radio silence with Taylor,” I continue. “The audience thinks I fumbled it. They think it’s over. And then—” I snap my fingers. “I show up. Almost four hours away. No warning. Flowers. An apology. Real drama to feed the audience.”
Joe studies me carefully. “And you’re sure she won’t just slam the door in your face?”
“No.” A short laugh breaks out of me. “But that outcome might actually be better for you than if she lets me in.”
“For me,” he repeats.
“For the show,” I amend with a grin. “Whether she lets me in or not, that’s the kind of footage they build promos around.”
Silence stretches between us. I can see the gears turning in his head, already planning all the ways they could spin this narrative to benefit the show.
“You’d let me film it?” he asks finally. He’s guarded, expression unsure and I don’t blame him. I haven’t been the easiest to work with.
I hold his gaze. “I’d forget you’re even there.”
Less than an hour later, we’re piled into one of the show’s passenger vans, barreling down the freeway toward Cambria.
Toward Taylor.
Toward whatever she decides to do with me.
Hours later, Joe stops at a small flower shop a few miles from Taylor’s apartment. I hop out and duck inside, the bell over the door chiming too loudly.
