“Okay, okay, I’ll pick up the pace.”
Once he finishes, I arrange the sliced potatoes around the chicken, then add seasoning and lemon slices before sliding the pan into the oven.
“It’ll take about an hour and a half for the chicken to roast,” I tell Jake. He glances toward the TV.
“Guess that leaves us with plenty of time for aGolden Girlsbinge.” He turns back to me with an impish grin. “Dorothy.”
AFTER A MINI GOLDA-THONand a roast chicken dinner that Jake insists Ina Garten would envy, we’re sitting a respectable distance apart on the sofa, each of us nursing a third glass of wine and a mild food coma. Jake drums his long fingers against his thigh, and I’m reminded of the sensual way he dragged them across his guitar strings that first night we met. For a second, I forget to breathe.
“That dinner was amazing,” he says softly.
“Thanks,” I reply, nuzzling back into the couch cushions. “I’m happy with how it came out.” A shadow passes over Jake’s face, his expression suddenly serious. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he’s working out exactly what he wants to say.
“I was trying to remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,” he says. He’s staring down at his shoes, jaw flexing, and I can tell he’s working up the nerve to continue. “When things first started taking off for me, it was exhilarating. All my dreams were finally coming true. It wasn’t until the shine wore off a few months in that I realized how lonely I was. Tonight’s the first time in ages I’ve felt… home.”
He drags his gaze upward and studies me, as if to gauge my reaction to his confession. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I’ve lived in this apartment my entire life, but it hasn’t felt like a home in years. But tonight, chatting and having dinner with Jake like it’s the most natural thing in the world, something has shifted. It terrifies me to acknowledge that I feel the same way.
Desperate to move to a lighter topic of conversation, I slide closer to him on the sofa and lean my head back against the cushion. “Tell me more about your year. What’s the best thing you’ve gotten to do?”
Jake’s eyes light up. “Easy. Being onSesame Street.” He scrunches up his face and affects a Grover voice. “Bis for blueberries.”
I choke on my wine, spraying a bit of Chardonnay. “Okay, okay,” I say, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “Favorite place you’ve visited?”
“Hmm.” He presses his fingers to his lips as he contemplateshis answer. “Probably Austin. Or maybe New Orleans.” He grins at me. “You would love the food scene there. Have you ever been?”
“Nope. We didn’t travel that much when I was growing up.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Well, my parents were lawyers and they worked all the time. There were a few summers when we rented a house in the Hamptons, but we never managed to go anywhere else. We’d always try to make plans, but then a big case or something would come up. Their schedules never meshed well.”
My eyes flit over Mom’s favorite chair, the same one I sat in two nights ago. It’s where she sat when she told me she was unexpectedly being sent to London for a case, and our upcoming Disney World trip would have to be postponed. We never did go, in the end. Then she got sick, and we never traveled anywhere.
Jake presses his palms into his knees. “Guess I’ll get out of your hair and head back to the hotel.”
“I bet you have the most gorgeous suite,” I say a bit wistfully. The Pierre has always been one of my favorite spots in Manhattan. I’ve never rented a room, but my parents took me to their afternoon tea service for my tenth birthday, and it’s held a special place in my heart ever since.
Jake nods. “It’s beautiful. Just a bit… I dunno, sterile. But that’s hotel life for you.” He offers me a weak smile that’s entirely unconvincing, and my heart twists. “I know, it’s a real champagne problem.”
“Don’t you have anywhere else to stay? Somewhere homier? What about the guys you lived with in Brooklyn?”
Jake’s expression darkens. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He blows out a sigh and drags a hand through his hair.
“After I signed with Vinny, one of my old roommates, Luke, asked me to get him a meeting. I tried, but Vinny wasn’t interested. I told Luke I’d done my best and even offered to help him with his demo so he could start approaching other agents. But he was convinced I’d deliberately screwed him over. He started calling me nonstop, at all hours, until I began avoiding my phone altogether. Eventually, I had to change my number. Just like my management predicted.”
He shakes his head. “I always told myself that if I ever made it, I wouldn’t change, that I wouldn’t be one of those celebrities who ditches all of his old friends. But I hadn’t accounted for the fact that other people would change. Turns out, there’s nothing like fame to make you realize who really has your back. It’s been the worst part of this whole thing. Learning who you can and can’t trust.”
A beat passes as I contemplate his words. “How do you know you can trust me?” I ask.
Jake’s eyes drop to his lap. “The truth is, I didn’t at first. The way I ghosted you… I know it was beyond shitty. But after what happened with Luke, I was scared. I mean, you inspired a hit song. You would have gotten paid a fortune to sell the story. Getting betrayed by a friend sucked, but if the same thing happened with you? Honestly, I didn’t know if I could handle it.”
He fiddles with his cord bracelets, still avoiding my gaze. “Of course, you never said a word, and I realized pretty quickly I’d made a huge mistake. But by then, it was too late. I knew I’d blown it.”
When Jake lifts his head, his brown eyes are wide and glassy. We stare at each other as I process his confession, a flame of indignation slowly building inside me.
