Chapter 6
Six
As soon as I get back to the city on Monday, work explodes—two contract negotiations encounter major snags, then I have to work out reparations from a publisher over a printing error. All in all, I’m too busy to spiral about Toby, which is probably for the best. By Friday, it’s also clear I’ll be too swamped catching up on work this weekend to make it to Rosedale. I text Toby.
Not going to be in Rosedale tomorrow, after all. Can we push our appointment by a week?
He writes back hours later as I’m about to drop dead asleep, but when I see the name on my notifications, I’m suddenly wide awake.
Not a problem. Sorry for the belated reply. Lost my phone (again).
I grin, imagining his melodious voice saying the words and type back.
Did you find it in a stack of newspapers? Or the cat food bin, perhaps?
There’s a slight delay before his response, enough time for me to wonder if we’re not good enough acquaintances for me to joke with him over text. But then?—
In the fruit bowl. Not sure how it got there, tbh.
I laugh, the sound echoing in my sparsely decorated bedroom. My New York apartment is much more minimalist than my place in Rosedale, where I’ve given up on any sort of order and have instead embraced a sort of bohemian baroqueness.
I’m debating continuing the conversation when he writes again.
I turned in the painting to the Greystone today, so that’s good timing to begin working on yours.
We haven’t talked specific monetary terms yet, and my agent brain wants to get it all settled, but ten PM on a Friday night is not that time for that. Instead, I write?—
I’m sure they were blown away by it. Congratulations.
He writes back quickly.
They did seem to like it, actually. Thanks.
I bite my lip as I read the response. I could leave it there, get some much-needed sleep. I have to go into the office tomorrow morning, unusual for a Saturday, but necessary to catch up on some contracts I’d neglected while dealing with other fires this week. But then he writes again.
Spring is in full swing around here. Are you going to want the picture to reflect that?
I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s right. The trees around my house are budding, not the fully leafy lushness that they’ll be in summer, nor the crispy red-yellow-orange of autumn. It would be interesting to have a series, the four seasons, but though I’m more than comfortable, I’m not made of money. I’ll have to be okay with one. And besides, I love spring.
I think so. Spring is my favorite season.
His reply comes right away.
Mine too. Who can resist renewal and rebirth?
And so many things to look forward to as it warms up.
Like what?
Linen suits. Driving my Beamer with the top down. Inviting myself over to Jack and Pete’s swimming pool.
Do you celebrate Easter?
In a secular way, sure.
Ivy and I are having some folks over for an Easter brunch next weekend. You should come.
Photos on Saturday, brunch on Sunday? It’s a plan.
Great. See you then.
See you then.
He doesn’t write back after that, and I reluctantly put my phone away after rereading the conversation three times. I need to let go of this crush. If Toby and I could become friends, that should be enough.
I fall into a restless sleep, because deep down, I know it won’t be.