Chapter 7 #2
His eyes widen slightly. He runs his hand through his tousled hair and takes a deep breath, but to his credit, makes no comments.
“I’ve been busy today, that’s all,” I say. Not a lie. Not the full truth either.
“I feel like it’s been a long day,” he sighs.
“Maybe you need to go on more auditions,” I tease. “That way you wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for me.”
“It’s not like I want to be home,” he replies. “I just don’t know what to do next. And the things I’m trying out… they want some better, cleaner version of me.”
His honesty stops me mid-stir.
“What started it? Your situation, I mean.”
I settle on making a salad. I open the top cabinet and reach for one of the bowls on my tiptoes. I can feel the hem of my top rising enough to show some skin. It’s faint, but I hear him groan.
“Suffocating press,” he says, distracted. His voice is a tone deeper than it was before. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman here, but damn…”
I smirk and bite my lip slowly, leaning on the counter until I’m perfectly placed in the middle of the screen.
“Damn what?” I ask innocently.
“Oh, don’t play dumb, love; you know exactly what you're doing to me right now.”
Every word he says is a boost of confidence. For the first time in months, I feel good about myself.
“If it bothers you, I can change.”
He closes his eyes for a second as if trying to regain composure.
“I’ll be okay. Thanks for your concern,” he mocks. “Continue doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Dinner. I’m making dinner,” I say, watching as his eyes follow my every move.
“Ah, now that we are on the subject of dinner,” he says. “I know this great Italian place not too far from The Anchor. Let me take you out.”
“How many times are you going to ask me?”
“As many as I have to until you say yes,” he says with a boyish smile. “We can go as friends.”
“What’s the point? I’ll be heading back to L.A. sooner or later. Also, you’re… you.”
“What does that even mean?” he chuckles. “I’m not allowed friends?”
“I don’t do casual dating. I’m not good at it.”
I ignore his comment. Because if there is one thing I’m certain of, it’s that being just friends is hard.
“Neither am I.”
I shake my head slightly. “So then why would you want to start something that is destined to end badly?”
“Because we don’t know how it ends. But everything has a chance at being great.”
That’s the scary part. I reach for the fridge—not needing anything from inside—to give myself a few seconds off camera.
“Don’t get shy on me now, love.”
How this man knows me so well already is a mystery. I grab my phone and dinner and head over to the couch.
“I’m trying not to,” I answer.
“What are the chances that you’ll go back home after this month?”
He starts moving around until his phone is propped up like mine was earlier. I hear the fridge open and close before he’s back on screen. Most of him.
I don’t even have to imagine what’s under that shirt. Not that I’m looking. It could be all over my TV in a matter of seconds. Although now I feel like it would be unethical.
“Thomas?” he asks again. How long was I staring?
I clear my throat awkwardly. “A lot is riding on this. But I really don’t know. I do miss home more than I thought I would.”
“I’ve been there,” he says as he moves. “I also know the memories you make abroad will stay with you forever.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve barely made any in the three weeks that I’ve been here. When can I expect some?”
He stops, looks directly at me, and smirks.
“As soon as you agree to go out with me.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to start anything other than a friendship.”
He’s been so cheery; I don’t want to disappoint him.
“I can do a friendship,” he says calmly. “I don’t mind waiting. Not for you, anyway.”
My heart turns in my chest for all the wrong reasons. I want to be happy. Instead, I’m getting more and more upset that I’m this broken.
“You might end up waiting for nothing,” I say, almost to myself. “I’m sorry for ruining the mood.”
“You’re not ruining anything, love. You can talk to me about anything on your mind.”
I don’t know if it’s Emma’s words resonating in my mind, or not wanting to hurt him, or if it’s simply my need to put it out there with someone other than my best friend.
“I was with someone for years,” I whisper, tentatively.
He just hums.
“He cheated. Everyone knew except me.”
His face hardens—he’s angry.
“So, it’s hard for you to trust.”
“Right.”
“I struggled with that for a bit myself.”
I’m thankful he’s sharing his own experience instead of pitying me.
“I was also the only one to not see that Emily was just using me. But everyone had me on this strange pedestal, so they kept quiet—even through the proposal.”
“That’s so shitty. What’s wrong with people?” I groan. “You know, what pisses me off the most is that I would consider myself a realist. I like seeing things for how they are—good or bad—and I always lead with the truth. Even if that means telling my dad his new dance moves are cringey,” I rant.
He lets me, chuckling along the way.
“But with this guy, I was blind. I lost all sense of self. Now, talking to you, I’m shocked that I’m finding an ounce of trust to tell you these things.”
“It’s how it starts,” he adds. “Little by little, the fear of trusting is overpowered by our will to live outside our homes. And if it makes you feel any better, I find brutal honesty incredibly attractive.”
I’m the one that laughs now. “Are you using my vulnerabilities to flirt with me?”
“Shamelessly.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, tucking his hand behind his head. “In my defense, they make you who you are, and that’s unique.”
Perhaps this lifeline position wasn’t only to salvage my career. Maybe it’s always meant to be a part of my journey. He seems to think so.
“Okay, smooth talker,” I tease. He smiles, and his eyes shine a tad brighter.
“Hit me. Fun fact, go!” he urges, steering me away from overthinking.
“I love puzzles,” I blurt. I don’t know why that’s the first thing that comes to mind, but I roll with it. His eyebrows shoot up. “I time myself. It can get pretty—”
“Competitive,” he interrupts.
His face looks like he’s heard the strangest thing ever. “I just ordered this year’s world competition 500-piece.”
No way.
“You?”
He nods, and I smirk.
I can feel my competitive instinct waking up from its slumber.
“Oh, this is going to be good…”
I walk into the building with five minutes spare to clock in. I haven’t had time to stop for a coffee, and my makeup is halfway done, but at least it’s not raining.
There is absolutely nothing that could change my mood today. I feel dreamy, almost happy. That video call made me question everything. If he managed to make me feel that secure and confident through a screen, what would it be like if I went out with him?
The day doesn’t give me much time to think about it.
His texts come in at the busiest times, and during my lunch break, he had a meeting with his manager. Still, my dopamine levels stay high with the memories of last night.
It gives me chills to remember his words.
After everything he has been through, how is he not scared of falling in love again?
He’ll have to teach me.
“Are you coming to dinner?” Claire asks as she packs her things.
For the whole day, there’s only been one thing on my mind: finish work, get home, and call Harrison.
However, the last time that my life revolved around a guy, it didn’t end well.
“Yes, I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” I answer. I put on my jacket, grab my phone out of my purse, and shoot him a quick text:
I’m going out to dinner with my coworkers; don’t wait up!
Harrison
You were right; I need a job.
I’ve been thinking about you all day.
You do! Don’t miss me too much…
Harrison
Always do.
Have fun, but be safe, please.
“How can someone even sleep so much?” he asks. “I’ve already sent in two audition tapes, sat through an hour-long meeting with Peter, and had a full breakfast.”
It’s eleven a.m. I woke up a few minutes ago and called Harrison. I already had one missed call. He picked up instantly as I poured myself a big cup of coffee.
Now, I’m sitting on the couch watching him get ready for his morning run. It’s a treat.
“I went to bed at three!” I complain back. “And it’s a Saturday. I don’t have to do anything all day. Plus, you start your day so early.”
“The earlier I start, the sooner I’m done.”
He gives me a mischievous look before grabbing the phone and heading out of his apartment.
“Last night got me thinking,” he says as he walks down some stairs. “Don’t decide on going back home without letting me try to get you to stay.”
“You can try, but I can’t promise anything. It’s not just my choice.”
He’s now outside. It’s cloudy but not raining.
“I’ll be at The Anchor today at five p.m., waiting for you.”