Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Sunday morning arrives with the sun shining as brightly as my mood. It feels like the whole world agreed to ditch the grays and let light in. Everything’s good. The birds are chirping like it’s their job, and the leaves outside sway lazily in the breeze.
I crack open my window and tilt my head up to the rays. Across the street, laughter from a couple floats through the air. A dreamy night, followed by a beautiful morning that doesn’t dare mess it up.
After Harrison left, I somehow managed to drag myself inside instead of running after him—much harder than I’d anticipated.
I already missed his voice, that deep, velvet tone. His baby blue eyes. The way my pulse accelerates every time we touch.
The whole evening had been perfect. Ordinary moments wrapped in this extraordinary situation. He reminded me that behind the screens he’s still a regular guy.
So yeah, waking up with nothing but a kiss on the cheek and an empty apartment? Frustrating. Deeply.
Lately, my phone’s been like Santa Claus, dropping off little presents overnight. This morning’s gift: his text, waiting for me since eight a.m. I do a ridiculous dance as I pick up the phone.
Harrison
Morning, love.
Hope you slept well.
It’s Sunday.
I can teach you how to sleep in if you want…
Harrison
Someone woke up feisty today.
What do you expect?
I tap on his contact. I’ve never been the one to call first, not wanting to interrupt anything important, but now? I’m hooked.
Texting isn’t enough when I can see his face on my screen.
He picks up on the first ring.
My brain lights up with a big neon YAY.
His hair is damp, water still sliding down his temples. He runs a hand through it, slicking it back. He’s smiling. Shirtless. Waist-up-only shirtless, but still. I can’t see much, but I can picture it all.
“I’ve been trying to be a lady here but damn…” I lower my voice and attempt to raise an eyebrow, imitating him.
A grin creeps on his face. His eyes sparkle with amusement. He presses his lips together, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink as he tries to suppress the imminent eruption.
Then, like a dam that couldn’t hold any longer, his laughter fills the space through the tiny speakers on my phone. It’s contagious. I’m laughing too, breathless. A moment of pure, unfiltered joy.
“Honestly, Thomas,” he says between gasps, wiping actual tears. “Where did you come from?”
I shrug my shoulders, giving him my best innocent smile.
“Any plans for today?”
“Well,” I say, pretending to consider. “I have to clean, but I don’t want to clean. I have to go shopping because my fridge is starting to resemble my dorm room days. But I hate going shopping. So, you know. Dilemma.”
“I see. Unfortunately, I’m going to be of no help today.”
He drops his phone on the bed, and I’m left staring at his ceiling and two sad downlights. I hear drawers opening and closing.
“Hey!” I complain. “Don’t leave me here.”
“I thought you said you weren’t ready,” his voice echoes, still offscreen. A few seconds later, he’s fully dressed.
“Yes, for a relationship. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view, duh.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Anyway, I’m taking your advice and finding myself a job. I’ve got a stack of scripts I haven’t even touched. My manager’s already breathing down my neck, so I guess it’s time.”
“Oh, that sounds fun! Can I help?” I ask, trying desperately to escape my grown-up chores. “I could read lines with you. I’m very good with voices, as you’ve seen.”
“Sorry, love. They’re all strictly confidential.” His grin is annoyingly smug. “And you’d be more of a distraction than a help.”
“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll just lie here all day in protest.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something to do. I’ll call as soon as I’m done. Don’t miss me too much.”
The call ends, and I sprawl out like a lazy starfish. Is it possible this isn’t some nasty joke from the universe? It never feels like life can take a wild left turn—until it does. The real question is: how long will it last?
My whole life is still halfway across the world, waiting for me. Sooner or later, I’ll have to board a plane and go back to how everything was before. I just hope this new version of me that I’m discovering makes it back too.
As for Harrison… it might be na?ve to not see an ending when one is probably right there, waving in the distance.
This first month has stretched in the best way. The clock ticking toward my departure still feels light-years off, but if there’s something that I’m taking from Harrison, it’s out of sight, out of mind.
Worry less and live more. My new personal goal.
I scroll on my phone aimlessly, hunting for something interesting enough to distract my thoughts. Everything back home looks the same as when I left. No surprises there. Nothing online is real anymore. Everyone knows it’s all bullshit, and we all act like it isn’t.
I’m watching a video of a fluffy white cat sliding itself into a flower vase when a text comes in.
Harrison
Come down to your front door.
I shoot up from the bed and bolt for the hallway. He must have hated those scripts if it only took him thirty minutes to get through all of them.
Not that I’m complaining.
A black SUV with tinted windows idles at the curb. I don’t step into the street, seeing that I’m lacking shoes; instead, I wait for him.
Except it’s not Harrison.
A tall man comes out. Greyish hair, black suit and tie, deadpan expression. Not the friendliest of the bunch.
He holds a massive to-go coffee in one hand and, in the other, a brown paper bag.
“Miss Julia Thomas?”
I nod slowly, caught somewhere between confused and deeply aware of my pajama-pants and mismatched fluffy socks situation. I most definitely look like a crazy person.
He walks over, sparing me the indignity of shuffling out to the car, and hands over the bag. The smell hits me—warm, buttery carbs. My mouth waters instantly, and my stomach does a somersault.
Guess I don’t get Harrison, but this? Next best thing.
“Thank you,” I say, lingering in hopes of… something. A name? A nod? A single word of small talk? Nothing. Just a slight bow of the head before he disappears into the car.
Weird. But not the worst way to start a morning.
Nearly skipping, I go back inside with my edible treasure.
In the comfort of my living room, I unpack the bag of mystery goodies. Wrapped in thin baking paper, I find a still-warm, golden croissant and a glossy pain au chocolat. Lying against the edge of the bag is what I first assume is a receipt—until I see his handwriting.
Thought maybe this will help you get your day started.
x Josh
He must’ve handed it to his driver before ‘heading to work.’ It’s such a small thing. But it reminds me who I’m really dealing with.
It’s easy to forget. Around him, everything feels so natural. So normal.
But the truth is, he has a driver. He’s recognized by practically the whole planet. His work involves winning awards, not deleting spam emails.
Being an actor is one of those rare dream jobs. The kind of thing we all wanted as kids—right up there with astronauts and pop singers. Harrison is the living, breathing version of Hey Mom! I made it. And honestly? He deserves it.
Growing up in LA, I’ve had my fair share of Hollywood encounters, and not once have I thought, “Wow, they’re still grounded.” Most are arrogant, money and fame-driven, floating on cloud nine above and superior to the rest of us.
And yet—he proves my lifelong hypothesis wrong.
The one where I assumed everyone in that industry had been poisoned by spotlight exposure.
This guy’s out there delivering breakfast to a crazy American girl with mismatched clothes and a fear of relationships. Maybe it’s the smell of the buttery croissant, but I’d say that’s pretty damn noble.
The coffee is still steaming when I take the first sip. The fuel I didn’t know I needed this morning. Perfectly blended, perfectly strong. Like it knew I needed a little extra today.
I take a bite of the croissant and moan aloud. Shamelessly. I’m taking advantage of the fact that no one’s around. It’s flaky, light, and sweet enough to hit the spot.
I grab my phone and send him a text.
I’m never going to be able to thank you for this.
Everything is SO good.
And because I’m feeling a little flirty (and I’m no longer hangry), I add:
I’ve been moaning non-stop for the past five minutes. My neighbors are getting a show.
Harrison
Jesus Christ, Julia.
Are you purposefully trying to torture me?
Julia? Again?
Harrison
Yes, again. You’re going to be the end of me.
You started it yesterday. I was fine before stepping into that backroom.
Harrison
And I’ll finish it.
Whenever you give me the chance, I’ll show you exactly how worth it this is.
It doesn’t take me long to knock out my to-do list.
With the space tidy and the still-present taste of the camera in my hands, I open my laptop and put my inspiration to good use.
A few months ago, I’d snapped a bunch of photos at a family brunch, but I never got around to editing them.
Flowers, animals, buildings—I love finding bits of life in places we usually ignore.
Without warning, a photo of my parents fills the screen.
My dad’s hugging my mom from behind. She’s laughing. Head tipped back, her wavy brown hair caught in the wind.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was chilly but sunny. We’d gone on a picnic with Emma’s family. My mom had gotten cold and stolen Dad’s beanie, then taken off running down the hill with him chasing her.
My chest tightens, eyes watering unexpectedly.
I haven’t reached out—just the occasional check-in text—and I could use her motherly instinct right about now.
I reach for my phone and video call her. She picks up on the second ring.
Her face glows from the morning sun, tan and smiling as always.
“Jules, Honey!” she beams. “It’s been too long! You look gorgeous.”
“Hi, Mom.”