Page 97 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

Putting my art out into the world is terrifying, a giant leap, but I’m quite pleased about it. I’ll be less thrilled if nothing sells after dropping a boatload of cash on frames, but it feels so right that I can’t help but smile.

CHAPTER THIRTY

HENRY

“Henry?” It’s Julian, pestering me. I’d say I’m focused on work, but my screen saver has turned on. “Henry?”

“Yes?”

“I said your name three times. Are you quite alright today?” He asks that every day.

“Of course. I’m fine.” I’m a little distracted, but I’m getting by.

“Coffee time? Fly or buy?”

“Both. My treat.” I grab my coat. The memory of shopping for it, of Kait and Saoirse hitting it off by phone, is as harsh as the cashmere is soft. I grab my scarf and wonder why I don’t wear a parka like everyone else in Chicago, but I know. She was with me, sort of, when I bought this coat.

“Henry?” Julian calls after me as I head for the door.

“Yes?”

“It’ll be okay,” he says. “If you aren’t happy, it isn’t over.” I pretend that’s reassuring, with a nod and what I hope is a smile, before stepping out into the hallway.

One of the worst things that can happen to a person is hope. I’ve lost so much time staring at my lamp from Kait, touching it, trying to make hers light up and send some sort of message that I’m a mess without her. I wish I could make it blink SOS. Who knew a single light bulb could devastate me by existing, but here we are.

Hope that she will call is pointless. She said she wouldn’t, so she won’t. Despite anything I said to the contrary, Kait was honest to a fault, so I can rest sadly assured she’s not speaking my name or ringing me up anytime soon. Ever. The only thing left is some freak chance she moved here and I hear her voice across a room. That I’ll be in a bar and the cosmos will see fit to reunite us. It would help if I left the house.

Magical thinking.

Except she’s real. And she’s out there. And I’m never going to find her. I wouldn’t even know where to look. Or who to look for.

The solution lies in being busy from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep—which is positively easy these days. Except I dream of her and with perfect clarity, and I feel like a loser because I’m struggling with moving on. Correction: I’m struggling with the outcome of my choices.

“Thank you,” I say as a polite regular holds the door for me at the Other Bean. The warm blast of cream-and-coffee-scented air hits me, and I take a long, heavenly breath. I narrowly avoid eye contact with my giggling morning acquaintance, to whom I never speak but who seems to delight in my admittedly minor humiliation.

Regardless, she’s wearing an adorable pair of pink Converse All Stars with a matching pink shirt, and the hair bun chopsticks as always. She’s the definition of adorable. And familiar. Maybe I’ve had a dream about her, something that makes her seem familiar and her laugh appealing.

Every time one of Julian’s odd names on the coffee tickles her fancy, she giggles, and it’s a physical thing. A frisson of energy goes skittering down my spine when it hits.

“Hello, Irish!” Duncan announces in his burly Scots accent. He gives me a fist bump as he froths or whatever baristas do.

“Duncan, good to see you as always,” I say and jam my hands in my pockets, trying not to feel awkward and conspicuous. It’s a side effect of Julian’s name game.

We chat as he puts together orders. It’s busy. I wait for him to yell out whatever name Julian has selected to embarrass me. Duncan, however, is a gentleman and hands it to me. Silently.

And consequences being what they are, I exchange the lack of embarrassment for a day without a giggle. I prefer the minor spectacle. It feels like being noticed again.

I accept the two cups, a little sad. No matter.

Elliott, the barista, can’t let it stand and, despite me already holding the drinks in my hands, yells, “Americano and Earl Grey for… Henry Cavill!”

And there it is. My adorable friend lets out a tiny peal of laughter she tries to squelch but still reminds me of happy, tinkling bells ringing with delight.

Making her happy for a moment helps me. I can’t make it up to Kait, so I try to put small doses of good into the world where I can. A penance. Some days, I hope that it was another day at the office for her, solely because I hate the idea of causing her pain. When I’m selfish, I want her to miss me too. I want her to long for me.

I must be blushing because Elliott smiles and says, “Sorry, it was too good. I had to.”

Duncan nods. “Who doesn’t like Sherlock Holmes?”