Nineteen
Mia
Blinking, I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. I check the time—no wonder I’m stiff, I’ve been writing for over three hours.
It’s hard to believe how much has happened in twenty-four hours. I woke up today unable to focus on the book, worried kissing
Gavin had ruined everything. Now we’re co-parenting kittens and I’m counting down the minutes until he comes home and kisses
me again.
This morning, I had every intention of forgetting about the kiss. Gavin clearly wanted to. With the memory of him fleeing
the scene replaying in my mind, all signs pointed to us making a huge mistake. If I hadn’t been so physically exhausted, I
never would’ve fallen asleep, but when I woke up to no texts checking in like he normally would, I honestly thought I’d lost
him, and the only thing I could think to do was avoid him as long as possible.
That turned out to be all of half an hour because when I checked my phone after showering, I found three unread messages, but not from the person I was desperate to hear from.
Morris texted asking me to convince Gavin to take the kittens, and who can say no to kittens?
So I bought breakfast for the crew, bracing myself to play things off like kissing Gavin hadn’t rocked my whole world.
I kept it up all day, reminding myself how important it was to stick to friendship.
But none of my old excuses held weight against the reality of how good it felt to kiss him. It’s like that was the one thing
missing from our relationship, and finding out he was right there with me, not wanting to forget it but wanting to dive into
this newfound twist, was the sweetest relief. But everything feels so tenuous and new. The foundations of our friendship are
shaken, and I’m worried that without the excuse of the trope tests, all this will crumble.
I don’t want to lose the magic we’ve just found. If I’m honest, I used looking after the kittens as an excuse not to go back
to normal right away, to stay here in this place for a little longer where Gavin and I aren’t just friends. I should go check
on them, but before I do, I take my phone off Do Not Disturb and see a string of texts from Evie. She must’ve read the chapters
I sent her.
Evie: Omg, this is so good.
Evie: Sydney and Victor, who would’ve thought? Aside from the legion of fans clamoring for this book. Honestly, I wasn’t seeing
it. But that scene in his friend’s closed-up mechanic shop where she was pretending to be a stranded motorist? Pure fire.
I’m officially team friends-to-lovers.
Evie: Send me more when you have it. Or now. Now is good.
I stand and stretch, my palms sore, but better than yesterday.
I took a picture of my bandaged hands to send Kim last night for sympathy before realizing texting her might be a slippery slope to revealing I kissed the man I’ve told her for years will never be more than a friend, which I absolutely wasn’t ready for.
But the photo is still on my phone, and on impulse, I send it to Evie along with the caption: The things we do for our craft.
My phone immediately buzzes with a call from her. “Writing is not a contact sport,” she says when I answer. “What really happened?”
“I volunteered for a community lot cleanup day and let’s just say my soft hands were not prepared.”
“Another procrastination attempt?” We’ve both gone to great lengths to avoid tricky projects, including, in her case, drafting
an entire novella instead of the book she was meant to finish.
“No, uh...” What will I tell her? The truth, I decide. I can’t bear to open up to Kim about what happened. She’ll be way
too dramatic. But I need to debrief with someone before Gavin gets back. “You know how I was brainstorming with you about
the method-acting scenes?”
“Yes,” she says warily.
“That wasn’t for the book, exactly.” I lay it all out, from the low-stakes office romance attempt to the way I kissed my best
friend of nearly a decade and adopted cats with him the next day.
“Let me get this straight,” Evie says when I’m finished. “Despite his own fears, this man saved you from an escape-room blackout,
nearly compromised you in a greenhouse, tended your injuries, ravished you on a fainting couch, and rescued kittens for you?
I’d be moving in with him, too.”
I laugh at her assessment. “It’s just temporary, during the day, until we know it’s okay to leave the kittens.”
“Stop. You’re in it now. May as well send me a save the date.”
“We’re just friends.” The old line comes out by habit.
“Friends with benefits.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I’ve never done casual relationships, and this is Gavin.
Our friendship is already deeper than any romantic relationship I’ve had.
All the reasons why we’ve never crossed this line come rushing back with a vengeance and I swivel around to slide off the stool.
“I’m worried things will never be the same. ”
“They won’t be,” she says, and my stomach clenches. “Relationships change for a lot of reasons, and that’s not always a bad
thing. But you two do need to talk and at least you have practice, being friends and all.”
We do. We’ve worked through our share of miscommunications and disagreements. We’ve shared advice and offered support. But
we’ve never discussed how to move forward after making out.
“Mia, you there?”
“I’m here.” I peek inside the laundry room and see the kittens have been exploring. The gray one, Ash, is batting at the sleeve
of Gavin’s hoodie that’s draped over the edge of a laundry basket. “Just checking on the cats.”
“Avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Which is supposed to be my manuscript.”
She blows out her breath. “From what you sent, you’re on the right track. But you’ve been running yourself into the ground
for this book. Remember that you’re more than your career. How you spend your time is worth it for its own sake, not just
as fodder for your creative well. Enjoy yourself and stop worrying over how everything will work out in the end.”
“Says the woman who just turned in a manuscript.”
“No better feeling,” she says, and laughs. “But I mean it. You deserve to have a little fun. Hell, a lot of fun. But be careful
with those hands.”
“It looks worse than it is. Typing is no big deal. Getting dressed on the other hand...”
“And that’s why you have a sexy new roommate,” she says. “Okay, bye!”
The call ends before I can reply, and I’m left shaking my head.
Evie is the kind of person most people picture when they think of a romance author.
Witty, poised, quick with a comeback. The truth is she’s no more brazen in her love life than I am, but she talks a good game.
Right now I could use some of that artificial confidence because I’m guessing Gavin will be home soon, and I’m not sure how to act when he walks in.
Should I order dinner for us? He might be bringing food. Filled with nerves, even though this is Gavin we’re talking about,
and we’ve spent countless evenings together, I lift my phone to ask him and see that Sera’s texted a bunch of question marks,
and below that, a link to a celebrity news site. Dread in my stomach, I click on it.
Booked in Love actor Robert Cho set to star in upcoming Roan Watkins film. What does this mean for the future of everyone’s favorite BFFs?
We foresee a bad breakup, and they haven’t even gone on a single date.
I stop reading, sick to my stomach. Another text comes through.
Sera: Did you know about this? Please tell me they aren’t canceling your contract.
Mia: Yes, I knew. No, nothing is changing as long as I turn the book in on time. If not, the studio gets carte blanche on how
Victor and Sydney’s story ends.
Sera: No offense, but I don’t trust them. I want a Mia Brady love story or nothing at all. How’s the book coming?
Mia: Much better, but a long way to go.
Sera: I’m going to tell my mom to take you off the text chain for our baby shower. I don’t want you to have any distractions.
Mia: Don’t be silly. They aren’t letting me do anything anyway, and it’s entertaining.
Sera: Says you. Meanwhile I’m over here trying to convince them that if anyone tries to play that game where they measure my belly
with string, I’m disowning them.
I bite back a laugh at the thought. I have no doubt Sera would do it, too.
Mia: Don’t worry. If I see anyone try to smuggle string into the party, I’ll have Gavin play bouncer and kick them out. He’s surprisingly
strong.
I added that last part because I’d been thinking about how he’d carried me up two flights of stairs after a long day’s work
like it was nothing, but now Sera might ask a follow-up. Knee bouncing nervously, I wait for a text with a pair of eyes to
come through. Or a snide, Oh, and how would you know? But no new texts appear. I should feel relieved, but nerves well up, along with a heaping dose of reality.
How long can we walk this tightrope? Sooner or later our friends will suspect. Joe might already. And if things go wrong,
what then? We’d have to arrange separate times to hang out with them. Or would Sera and Joe choose sides? The combination
of work stress and personal stress sends me diving back into my manuscript, dinner uncertainty forgotten, ready to find reprieve
in the fictional world where things follow a comfortingly familiar structure, and third-act breakups never last.