“I know what you mean. It’s this delicate dance between isolation and connection.”
“Mmm,” I hum. “And I’m so wrapped up in what I create, shovelingso much of myself into my art, that it’s difficult to separate the writing from the writer.”
Plus, my mind is constantly generating stories and drawing inspiration from my own experiences. It’s exhausting.
“Sometimes I find more companionship in my characters than I do in people in real life,” I admit.
Brooks laughs a hearty chuckle. “No truer words have ever been spoken.” The café is bustling with chatty patrons, dishes clattering, and espresso machines whirring, but his voice is clear when he says, “You are not a burden.”
My face heats, and I dip my chin. “Thank you, Brooks.” His statement doesn’t erase my struggles, but I can appreciate his sincerity.
“And hey,” he offers, “maybe this vacation is what you need to clear your head. You can write, soak in some vitaminsea,relax on the beach, and have all the loud sex you want without your neighbors hearing.” He punctuates that last item with a smirk.
I laugh at the memory of the time Tyler and I received a not-so-nice note stuck to the front of our apartment following quite the sex marathon. Since then, I’ve had to watch what I say—and how loud I say it.
Raj refreshes our coffees, then Brooks and I work in comfortable silence for a long while. After a quick loop around the block to stretch our legs, we hunch over our laptops once more. Surprisingly, we’re only interrupted once by a pod of teenagers whispering words of wonder over whether Brooks is Penn Badgley. They look so devastated when he tells them he’s not their favorite bad boy, but they perk up a little when he pulls the brim of his hat low and poses for a picture anyway.
After pounding away at my keyboard until well into the evening, my neck and shoulders are screaming at me to go home. Brooks and I stroll along the boardwalk, watching as dogs pull their owners from one item of interest to another, sniffing all theway. Older folks are out for their nightly walks, and kids on scooters with helmets so big they slide down their eyes zip by us. The Pacific air is still and cool, with a perfectly painted cotton-candy sky over the horizon.
When Brooks and I part at the entrance to my building, he hugs me tight and says, “Remember what I said, Beck. You are not a burden.”
3
Cameron
“If we don’t leave now,we’ll be late,” Hayden calls from the bathroom.
I’m the one waiting by the front door of my penthouse, but she’s the one who’s stressed about being late to dinner with her parents.Penthousemakes it seem glamorous and pretentious, but really, it’s a modest three-bedroom apartment on the top level of my parents’ hotel.
Hayden doesn’t live with me, though by the looks of the place, one would think she’s been living here for years. For months, she left so many of her things behind that I offered her ownership of the guest bathroom, where I wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally mixing up her ten-step skincare routine.
Sometimes it’s awkward living in a hotel, and other times, it’s amazing. The unlimited access to room service is a nice perk, as is the nonexistent cost of rent. But working and living in the same building got old fast. My family has owned Hotel Connelly for three generations. The East Coast is sprinkled with dozens of our hotels, and we even have a few in California. We’ve been considering expanding to other countries in the near future as well. Forthe past several years, I’ve worked as the chief sales and marketing officer from the hotel’s original location in Port Washington on Long Island, New York. Thankfully, my parents moved out of the hotel and into their own home. Only that house is also in Port Washington, but at least I no longer discover my mom sitting in my living room.
While being born into the family has come with a great deal of benefits, I’ve never ridden on my father’s coattails. On my own merit, I earned a degree in hospitality management, with a minor in business. Though I would not have chosen to go into hospitality, it has been expected of me since the day I was born. When I was eighteen, my dad and I found ourselves engaged in a screaming match over my future, which sent my mom into a panic attack so severe she ended up in the hospital.
After that, my dad and I compromised. I’d go to college in preparation to take over the family business as long as I could choose the college. He wanted me to stay in the Northeast and attend an Ivy League, but I picked Florida. If I was being forced into the family business, I’d take advantage of the time away from my father. So I basked in the sun, surrounded by girls in bikinis. Best four years of my life.
Now, at age thirty, I’ve been back on Long Island for several years, and I’m dating my mother’s friend’s daughter. She and I attended different schools growing up, but would see each other sporadically at social gatherings. In our teens, we bonded a little, poking fun at the country club elitists we were forced to spend time with, but we fell out of touch after that. By the time I graduated from college and moved to Port Washington, she was working and living in DC with a boyfriend.
It wasn’t until nearly a year ago, when she moved back, newly single, that our parents reconnected us.
“Remember Hayden?” my mother said in the limo on the drive into the city for a fundraiser.
“Draper?”
“Yes. Her mother said she had a nasty breakup with that boy in DC.”
Where was she going with this?
Pulling her gaze from the window, she clicked her tongue. “She’ll be at the fundraiser tonight. I hear she’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“She comes from a good family, you know,” my dad added.
“I know.” I knew all about the Drapers’ status and reputation.
It was obvious what my parents were doing. I had just ended a casual relationship, and I’d allowed my parents to dress me like a Ken doll in a tux and drag me like a child to be pawed at by a bunch of stuffy rich folks. While I love a good philanthropic event, I despise the people I’m forced to interact with at each and every one. If they don’t have their noses stuck halfway up my ass, asking questions about money, they’re trying to set me up with their daughters, nieces, or granddaughters. As of that night, I could add my parents to the list of people trying to play matchmaker.
Upon arriving at the gala, I made a beeline for the bar. Before I’d even ordered a drink, I realized it was a mistake. As I waved for the bartender, I caught sight of Hayden, who was conveniently perched only a few feet away.
