“You’re predictable,” Jesse says when I answer, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
“Am not. I’ll have you know that I almost went out with AJ tonight,” I lie. He probably knows I’m full of shit, too. He certainly laughs like he does.
“You are, but I love that about you. Have you thought about the weekend?”
I close my eyes. “Yeah. I’m free. Let’s meet up.”
“Really?”
A little cheer goes up in the background, and at first, I think it’s a reaction to my acceptance of the maybe-date, but that would be weird. Then I remember the single dropped today, and they’re obviously celebrating.
“I take it the new single is doing well,” I say, wanting to make sure he knows it’s okay for him to go celebrate instead of talking to me for hours.
Noise erupts on his end–laughter, voices, a cork popping. “Hold on,” he says, and my phone beeps. I click the icon to accept a video call, and suddenly I’m looking at his face. His hair is damp, skin glowing, eyes bright. Behind him is a skyline, people bustling around, champagne bottles everywhere.
“You remembered,” he beams. “And yeah, we’re top of the charts.” More cheers in the distance and people waving into the phone around and behind Jesse.
“Congratulations,” I say, awkward but genuine.
“I wish you were here,” he says simply, and I smile back.
I’m happy for him. I really am, but all the champagne popping and luxury and fanfare around him just remind me of how different our worlds are.
SEVEN
LUC
Come Sunday, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m excited but also overthinking everything. He’s picking me up later this afternoon.
He’s picking me up.
That definitely makes this a date, right? I mean, it could still be a date if we were just meeting there, but it’s more ambiguous. There’s no way this isn’t a date if he’s coming to pick me up. Knowing makes me more excited and more nervous. I’m both. A lot of both.
I’m freaking out a little. I’ve already tried on three outfits, and I still have a whole day ahead of me, so it doesn’t even make sense to be getting dressed yet. Especially since he just called to tell me he needs to switch up our plans because something came up with the band. Several hours before he’s supposed to pick me up, because yeah, he’s picking me up.That absolutely makes this a date, right?
He said there’s been a little issue but he promised that he’s working on it. I told him we can reschedule. I have tomorrowoff, too, and his next big interview isn’t until Thursday, but he refused. He insisted he’ll make it happen, just that some of the plans are changing.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m pacing my condo. I’ve probably taken four showers today, and after trying on almost every item of clothing I own, I broke down and went to a department store. A very helpful store associate took pity on me and helped me pick out a nice pair of light grey chinos and a soft, navy-blue sweater that I’m worried is too snug, but she insisted it was perfect.
I’m just about to change out of the sweater and wear the plan white button-up I wear with my game day suits, when my phone rings. It’s him.
“Go outside,” he says. “There’s a car waiting.”
Sure enough, a luxury sedan with tinted windows idles at the curb. A driver holds the door open. I climb in, pulse thudding, expecting Jesse to be inside.
The seat is empty except for a single long-stemmed flower, red with edges tipped in yellow, and a folded, handwritten note.
Just go with it. See you soon.
The flower reminds me of fire, and I wonder if it’s an intentional nod to the night we met, but that might be a stretch. It was probably just the flashiest long-stemmed flower at the florist shop, and it’s doubtful he even chose it himself.
I stare at it, twirling the stem in my fingers while the chauffeur closes me in and walks around to the driver’s seat. He gives me a quick introduction, telling me his name is Harry, and that we don’t have far to go. My nerves climb with every turn the carmakes. Ten minutes later we’re pulling onto a tarmac where a helicopter waits, blades thumping in the night air. I gape at the driver when he stops and comes around to open my door.
“You’re kidding, right?”
The driver just smiles and escorts me over to the pilot, who buckles me in, puts a headset on me, and gives me a short rundown about safety. He says our flight should be around two hours.
“Where are we headed?” I ask, stunned.
