Fiona shrugs. “Did any of those folks in there strike you as particularly avid viewers of the Family Network?”
Sam considers that. In fact, most of them looked like the kind of people who would proudly announce that they didn’t own a television at all, and the rest suggested a strict diet of PBS andFrasierreruns. Still, a year and a half is a long time. “It’s very Method of you,” he says finally. “I admire your commitment to the work.”
Fiona doesn’t laugh. “Did you need something?” she asks.
“Yes, actually.” Sam nods, fishing around in his pocket until he finds the tiny post. “You left this in my car,” he tells her, holding it out. “You can thank me later for bringing it back to you.”
Fiona breathes in. “I—shit,” she says softly. She’s quiet for a minute before holding her palm out; Sam drops the earring inside. “Thank you.”
He nods. “I gotta say, you didn’t strike me as a pearl earring kind of girl.”
“I’m not,” Fiona mutters, though he can’t help but notice she slides it back on right away, double-checking to make sure it’s secure in her earlobe. Checking a third time.
“You got it,” he assures her. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
“Yeah.”
Neither one of them says anything for a moment, the silence stretching on just a beat too long not to be awkward. Sam tries to think of a natural way to segue into a conversation aboutBirds—after all, that’s what he supposedly came here to talk to her about, the only reason he drove all the way the fuck across the city—butto his utter shock, what comes out of his mouth is: “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
If Fiona is even one-millionth as surprised as he is, she doesn’t show it: “Scalping tickets outside the Staples Center,” she deadpans immediately. “Washing my hair. Cleaning the inside of the K-Cup machine.”
Sam tilts his head to the side. “I didn’t know that was a thing you had to clean.”
“Most people don’t,” Fiona says.
“Sounds like a busy night.”
“I’m a busy girl.”
Sam nods slowly. “Well, Cinderella,” he says, “in case you happen to get through all your chores. I’m meeting some friends for drinks around nine, if you want to come hang out.”
“Where?” she asks with a smirk. “Like, the Chateau Marmont?”
“No, smartass,” he says, though the club he names admittedly isn’t that far off, in terms of vibe, and Fiona bursts out laughing.
“Look,” she says once she’s pulled herself together, and Sam isn’t sure whether he’s imagining that for a moment she looks almost fond of him. “I get why you want to do this reboot. Clearly you’ve got some pretty significant cartel debt, and I can respect that. But I’m not going to do it, no matter how many different ways you try to leverage whatever crush you think I had on you back when I was eighteen.”
That gets Sam’s attention. “You had a crush on me?” he asks.
“Oh my god,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes so hard he thinks she can probably see her own brain. “We’re not talking about this.”
Sam smiles. “We’re talking about it a little, though.”
“We’re not,” Fiona assures him, but her cheeks are definitely getting pink.
“Okay.” He thinks for a moment. “Listen, you don’t have to do it,” he promises. “The show.”
“Oh, I know I don’t.”
“No, obviously, that’s not what I—” Sam breaks off. “I just mean I won’t bring it up again, that’s all. But you should still come to drinks tomorrow.”
Fiona shakes her head, just faintly.“Why?”she asks.
“Because I want to see you again,” he tells her. “With no agenda. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” she tells him immediately. “It is extremely hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true.” He takes a deep breath. “Fee. Come meet me tomorrow night.”
