Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Avery
I sat alone in my room, staring blankly at my laptop screen like it held the secrets of the universe.
Spoiler alert: it didn't.
I hadn't written a single word in two hours. My brain felt like it had packed its bags and headed for the Bahamas, leaving behind nothing but an out-of-office reply and a mess of twisted emotions.
Every time I tried to focus, my thoughts circled back to Brody like a compass finding north. Not that camera-ready grin, but the real one. The rough warmth of his hand on my lower back. The hurt in his expression when I'd pulled away.
God, I was pathetic. If they gave out medals for overthinking, I'd have enough gold to open a jewelry store.
My fingers found the snow globe he'd bought me. It was exactly the kind of tacky tourist trap garbage I usually rolled my eyes at—some generic winter scene trapped in glass, probably made in bulk in some factory.
But when I shook it, watching the silver glitter dance around the tiny olive trees, my chest got tight enough to make breathing difficult.
Such a stupid little thing, really. A five-dollar token that shouldn't mean anything. But it did. It meant everything—every laugh we'd shared, every genuine moment, every time he'd let that careful persona slip and showed me the real him.
And here I was, systematically dismantling whatever was growing between us like I was defusing a bomb.
The worst part? I couldn't even blame him anymore. This distance, this wall between us? That was all me now, laying the bricks, one careful rejection at a time.
“Get it together,” I said to myself. “It's just a stupid snow globe, not a crystal ball showing your future.”
The sudden ringing of a video call startled me so badly I nearly launched the snow globe across the room.
Glancing at my phone screen, I saw my cousin Kennedy's smiling face, looking annoyingly perky and put-together.
For a moment, I hesitated, my finger hovering over the decline button like it was the self-destruct switch on a bomb.
But something tugged at my heartstrings. With a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm my nerves, I answered, plastering on a fake smile that wouldn't fool a toddler, let alone my perceptive cousin.
“Hey, Avery!” Kennedy's cheerful voice filled the room, making me wince. Did she have to be so damn chipper? “How's the grand adventure going?”
I forced a chuckle. “Oh, you know, just living the dream. Exotic locales, breathtaking views, the works.”
Kennedy's eyes narrowed slightly, zeroing in on me like a heat-seeking missile.
“Uh-huh. And I'm sure that's why you look like you haven't slept in days and your hair is doing that thing it does when you're stressed.”
I self-consciously ran a hand through my hair, realizing too late that I was confirming her observation. Damn it.
“It's nothing. Just… work stuff. Deadlines, you know how it is. I’m a little tired, but the glamorous life of a travel writer waits for no woman.”
“Right,” Kennedy said, clearly unconvinced. “Because ‘work stuff' always makes you look like someone stole your favorite vibrator and replaced it with a cactus. Come on, Av. What's really going on? Spill before I have to drag it out of you.”
I sighed, feeling my walls begin to crumble. “It's… complicated. Like, trying-to-navigate-Tokyo's-subway-system-during-rush-hour-without-speaking-Japanese complicated.”
“I've got time,” Kennedy said softly, her tone gentler now. “Talk to me. Did you accidentally offend a local deity? Get chased by a pack of wild monkeys? Oh! Did you wake up with a face tattoo after a wild night of drinking?”
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
Words tumbled out of me in a jumbled rush, my voice catching as I tried to explain the mess of emotions I'd been bottling up like a shaken soda can.
“It's Brody,” I admitted, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “We… something happened between us. And now I don't know what to do. It's like I'm starring in my own personal sitcom, except I forgot to read the script and I'm pretty sure I'm fucked.”
Kennedy's eyebrows shot up. “Something happened? As in… oh my god, did you bang him? Was it good? It was good, wasn't it? I bet he's got stamina for days. Spill, woman!”
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “We slept together. And it was… God, Kennedy, it was amazing. Like, discover-a-new-wonder-of-the-world, speak-in-tongues, never-eat-a-banana-in-public-again incredible. But now I'm terrified that I've ruined everything. My career, the article, this whole project… it's like I've set fire to my whole life.”
“Whoa, slow down there,” Kennedy interjected, her voice filled with both amusement and concern. “How exactly does sleeping with the hot influencer ruin your career? Did you accidentally livestream it? Because I gotta tell you, that might actually boost your popularity.”
I let out a frustrated groan that probably made me sound like a constipated walrus.
“Because I'm supposed to be professional. The 90-Day Challenge was just… it was just marketing, Kennedy. A hook to make the articles more viral, to give them that extra social media zing that Rebecca's always harping about. Find the hidden gems, write compelling stories about local businesses, and wrap it all up in this neat little romantic bow for clicks.”
I started pacing, my bare feet wearing a path in the carpet. “It wasn't supposed to be real. I wasn't supposed to actually fall for him. Jesus, I sound like every cliché romance novel protagonist ever.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line so long I thought the call had dropped.
When Kennedy spoke again, her voice was gentle.
“Avery, do you hear yourself right now? You're talking about this incredible connection you've found like it's a disaster on par with Mount Vesuvius. Why are you so convinced that love and success are mutually exclusive? Did you sign some sort of celibacy pact with your career that I don't know about?”
Her words left me more winded than that time I tried hot yoga.
“I… that's not… I mean…” I fumbled, trying to find a logical argument. But the truth was, I didn't have one.
I was operating on autopilot, falling back on beliefs I'd held for so long without ever really giving them a good look. It was like I'd been running a marathon in shoes three sizes too small and wondering why my feet hurt.
Kennedy pressed on, relentless as a dog with a bone.
“Think about it, Av. Where did you get this idea that relationships are a hindrance to your goals? Is it because of our moms? I mean, I get that we never knew our fathers and never really had a good example of a real relationship, but still. You have to know relationships can be good for some people, right? Or do you think all those sappy posts on social media are just elaborate pranks?”
I flinched at the mention of my father, or rather, the lack of one. It was like poking at an old bruise—still tender, even after all these years.
“That's not fair,” I protested weakly, my voice sounding about as convincing as a cheap toupee.
“Isn't it?” Kennedy challenged, her tone softening. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they got it wrong? That maybe the real regret isn't choosing independence over love, but believing we have to choose at all? Life isn't a game of 'would you rather.' You can have your cake and eat it too… and maybe even have a hot guy feed it to you.”
I fell silent, Kennedy's words echoing in my mind.
She was right, of course. My mother's experiences, her regrets and cautionary tales, had shaped my worldview more than I cared to admit. I'd internalized the idea that success came at the cost of personal happiness, that love was a luxury I couldn't afford if I wanted to make it in my field.
It was like I'd been wearing blinders, and Kennedy had just ripped them off.
“Look, I know I shouldn’t be encouraging anything serious, and if you tell Mackenzie I’m rooting for anything other than a fun 90-day fling, I’ll deny it like a parent pretending they didn't just eat their kid's Halloween candy, but I want you to tell me about him,” Kennedy said softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Tell me about Brody. Not the influencer, not your assignment. The man you're falling for.”
Falling for. Fuck, that’s what it was, wasn’t it?
And so, I told her.
The words poured out of me like a dam had burst.
I told her about our clumsy attempt at that local dance, how Brody had twirled me until we were both dizzy and breathless, our laughing echoing through the town square. About the late-night conversation in the hot tub, where we'd shared our fears and dreams, stripped bare of our public personas, the steam rising around us like a veil of intimacy.
How even the slightest brush of his fingers sent shockwaves through my body, making me feel more alive than I had in years… his sexy fucking eyes and how they saw right through me, dismantling me brick by brick with nothing more than a glance.
“And don't even get me started on his abs,” I added, feeling my face heat up again. “I swear, Kennedy, it's like he's genetically engineered to make ovaries explode.”
With each memory, I felt my voice soften, my posture relaxing. Like speaking the moments aloud made them more real, more precious. The words just kept tumbling out. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at my dorky banter, and the electricity that crackled between us whenever we accidentally brushed hands.
“Now,” Kennedy said when I finally fell silent, probably grateful for the chance to get a word in edgewise and maybe grab a power bar to refuel, “I want you to do something for me. Close your eyes.”
I complied, feeling slightly ridiculous but trusting my cousin's process. For all I knew, she was about to hypnotize me into thinking I was a chicken.
At this point, that might have been an improvement. At least chickens don't have to worry about ruining their careers with ill-advised romantic entanglements.
“Okay, eyes closed. What now? Should I start clucking?” I quipped, trying to mask my nervousness.
Kennedy ignored my attempt at humor.
“Imagine your life five years from now,” she instructed, her voice taking on a soothing, almost hypnotic quality that made me wonder if she'd been moonlighting as a meditation app narrator.
“You've achieved all your professional goals. You're a renowned travel writer, your articles are winning awards… hell, let's throw in a Pulitzer for shits and giggles. But Brody isn't there. You let him go, chose your career over love like you're the protagonist in a Hallmark movie gone wrong. How does that future feel?”
It played out in my head like a premium cable series, high-budget and gripping, but sadly lacking the gratuitous sex scenes.
The accolades, the success, the validation I'd always craved served up on a silver platter, with a side of 'I told you so' for all the naysayers.
But as I delved deeper into the vision, I felt a hollowness, an emptiness, like eating a gourmet meal with a stuffy nose—all the right ingredients, but missing that crucial element that made it satisfying.
“Now,” Kennedy continued, probably sensing my internal struggle. “Imagine a different future. You're still successful, still writing incredible stories that make other travel writers weep with envy and consider changing careers to become accountants. But this time, Brody is by your side. You’re supporting each other's dreams and sharing adventures. Maybe you've even figured out how to turn your combined hotness into a renewable energy source. How does that feel?”
The shift in my imagined future was more palpable than a slap to the face.
I saw Brody and me exploring hidden corners of the world together, our professional collaboration enhancing our personal connection like hot sauce on tacos.
The warmth of shared laughter, the comfort of having someone to snuggle with after a long day of writing—someone who wouldn't judge me for eating cereal straight from the box at 2 AM or practicing random languages in the mirror.
It was a future filled with both personal and professional fulfillment, a balance I'd never allowed myself to imagine possible.
Tears welled up as the weight of my realizations hit me.
“Oh, God,” I choked out, sounding like I'd swallowed a frog. Or maybe the frog had swallowed me. “Kennedy, I think I've really messed up. Like, 'accidentally sent a nude to my entire contact list' level of messed up.”
“Hey, no,” Kennedy said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “You haven't messed up anything that can't be fixed. You've just been operating under some seriously flawed assumptions. It's like you've been trying to navigate by using a drawing of Middle-earth instead of Google Maps.”
I wiped at my eyes. “But what if I'm not cut out for this? What if I lose myself in the relationship and become a footnote in someone else's story? I don't want to be the 'and guest' on Brody's red-carpet invites.”
Kennedy's laugh was warm and reassuring, like a hug for my ears.
“Avery, have you met yourself? You're one of the most driven, talented people I know. The right relationship doesn't diminish your identity; it enhances it. Love isn't a distraction from your goals; it's a source of support and inspiration. It's like having a personal cheerleader, only with better benefits, if you know what I mean.”
As we continued to talk, I felt layers of fear and doubt beginning to peel away like an emotional onion. Kennedy's words were a balm to my confused heart, offering a perspective I'd never allowed myself to consider.
When the call finally ended, I found myself staring at my reflection in the hotel room mirror.
I looked different somehow, as if the conversation had physically altered me. My eyes were a little puffy, but there was a spark that hadn't been there before.
Despite the emotional revelations, a part of me wanted to stay convinced that avoiding love was the right choice to protect my career and personal goals.
It would be so easy to stay focused on my ambitions and keep my emotional barriers intact.
But as I turned away from the mirror, my gaze fell on the snow globe, innocently perched on the nightstand like a tiny, glittery reminder of everything I was trying to ignore.
Mark's words echoed in my head: "You're too focused on your career, Avery." He'd said it with such casual cruelty, right as he told me about the other woman and made my heart squeeze like an orange in a juicer.
But the thing was, my career was important to me. And words on a page didn't wake up one morning and decide they'd found someone better.
I picked up the snow globe, watching the glitter settle into wild, unpredictable patterns. Except that wasn’t what I needed right now, was it? Fuck. What was I even thinking? I needed something predictable. Not this chaos of emotions Brody stirred up every time he looked at me with those deep, expressive eyes.
The 90-Day Challenge was meant to be a stepping stone, not a stumbling block. This thing with Brody… it wasn't supposed to be real. It couldn't be real. Because real meant vulnerable, and vulnerable meant giving someone else the power to shatter me again.
No. I set the snow globe down with a decisive thud. No matter how convincing Kennedy could be, I couldn't afford to let my heart override my head. Not when the wounds from Mark were still healing.
Professional. That's what I needed to be. What I would be. Let the readers believe in the romance—that was the point, after all. But me? I'd keep my heart locked safely away, focus on the stories that needed telling.
Because the truth was, I wasn't ready to trust again. Not myself, and certainly not some adrenaline junkie with a camera and a smile that made my knees weak.
No matter how much that smile felt like coming home.