Chapter 19 #2
He grins, unfazed. Meanwhile, I’m flat on my back, my emotions tied in a knot that only seems to tighten with every passing second.
“Just making sure they get their money’s worth.”
When I wake up the next morning, Harrison’s gone on his morning run. I’m not sure at what time he left, but it was still dark outside when he kissed my forehead and slipped away.
Now, everything is quiet. Peaceful.
Until my phone buzzes.
Emma’s name appears on screen.
“I didn’t know if you’d be awake,” she says, also from the comfort of her own bed. I check the time.
“It’s nine here,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “It’s what, midnight for you? Why are you up?”
“The whole internet is intensely analyzing the way Harrison was looking at you during your picnic yesterday,” she says, dropping two links into our chat.
Are these ‘love eyes’? Joshua Harrison gets extra cozy with his new girl.
The look that says everything—is this the real deal?
Every article has the same photo—Harrison staring down at me like the world doesn’t exist outside of that blanket.
And okay… the pictures are really good. Wallpaper-level good. If it weren’t weird, I’d probably set one as my lock screen.
Both articles are fully committed to the same narrative: Joshua Harrison is in love with me.
If that’s true, everything changes. The stakes don’t just rise—they triple.
“What do you think?” I ask her, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“I think someone who looks at you like that would take a bullet for you without blinking,” she says, not missing a beat.
“Things are getting so complicated,” I groan.
“People fall in love, Jay. What did you think was going to happen?”
“So you do think he’s in love with me!”
“Well—yeah. What’s so bad about it?”
“I don’t know.” I stare up at the ceiling. “I’m scared.”
“Scared that what they’re saying is true? Or scared that it’s not?” she ponders. “What are your feelings?”
“My feelings are… fuck.” It’s all I can manage. I can’t get my thoughts in order.
Emma laughs softly, clearly amused. “Could you be slightly more specific?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper as if someone could hear me. “I might love him.”
Her smile blooms. “You do love him.”
Something about her confidence catches me off guard. “Well, who are you now? Aphrodite, goddess of love?”
She cracks up. “I’m pretty good at giving relationship advice,” she says. “Not so good at following it.”
Do I love him?
Is this what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s real, unconditional love?
I couldn’t say.
I love small things.
His eyes.
The sound he makes when he finally laughs after trying so hard to stay serious.
The protectiveness.
The safety of him.
Once I start thinking about it, I can’t stop. The list is endless.
“It might just be the idea of him,” I say, trying to weigh all my options. She rolls her eyes at me. “Well, think about it. He’s a big change from Noah. It’s possible that it’s just appreciation for someone who’s finally treating me right. Don’t you think?”
“That’s something that you need to figure out on your own, Jay. I can’t know,” she says, apologetically. “But if you want my advice, I think you should talk to him.”
“Absolutely,” I say, nodding. “NOT.”
“How do you plan on figuring this out then? You guys have a couple of weeks left. I think you need a game plan,” she mothers. “I’m surprised you haven’t said anything about it yet.”
I’m about to answer when I hear the front door shut.
“He’s back,” I say, like I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Great,” she claps her hands together. “Perfect timing to tell him how you feel.”
He comes into the room, all sheepish smile and post-run glow. He’s wearing all black—running shorts and a t-shirt. He pulls it off with both arms, from the bottom up, revealing his toned chest. I must’ve been staring, because I forget Emma’s still on the phone.
“He’s right there, isn’t he?” she says. I nod, still gazing.
“Hey, Emma,” he calls out casually. He walks over and gives me a peck on the lips. “I’m jumping in the shower.”
He strolls off. My eyes follow until the door to the bathroom closes behind him.
“I think what he meant was ‘follow me into the shower,’” Emma says.
I glare. “Right. Nothing like a little nakedness to ask him if he loves me.”
“However you want to do it,” she says, all smug and victorious, “just do it. I’m going to bed.”
The shower runs for less than ten minutes—which is nowhere near enough time to come up with a game plan for a potentially life-altering conversation.
He comes out pouting, with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“I thought you were going to join me.”
“Sorry. Got distracted,” I tell him—which technically isn’t a lie.
He turns toward his dresser, towel hung dangerously low. He’s facing away when it drops, my eyes still following his every move.
“Well, it’s time to get up,” he says as he changes into sweatpants and a white tee. “You must be hungry.”
Did my stomach rumble without me knowing? “How do you know?”
He comes over, towering over me, with that look on his face again.
“I could feel you staring.”
I blush and bite my lower lip teasingly.
“That—” he says, eyes dropping to my mouth. His thumb brushes along my chin and gently pulls it free. “—drives me crazy.”
I give him an innocent look. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry. For you.”
“Tempting,” I say, getting up on my knees. Even then, I still have to look up at him. “But I’m starving.”
“Good,” he grins and pulls me out of bed. “Because I stopped by a bakery and bought us some pastries.”
It’s crazy how much you can learn about someone when you pay close attention.
The way his muscles stretch when he turns to look at me.
The way a tiny dimple shows up every time he smiles, like he’s not trying to charm the entire population on Earth.
Somehow, I can’t imagine myself without this anymore.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he says, setting a plate of warmed-up pastries in front of me. “Should I be concerned?”
Now’s the time, I tell myself. Be nonchalant.
“I’ve been wondering. Do you always look at your dates with… love eyes?” I say and immediately wish I hadn’t. It was meant to sound casual, and I’m certain it sounded like a curse word.
He freezes for just a second—enough for me to notice.
“That’s what you’ve been distracted about?” he chuckles like it’s nothing. But his posture says otherwise. His shoulders are pushed back, cautious. “Emma showed you what they’re saying about yesterday?”
I nod. “It’s just… funny,” I say, light as air. “Makes me feel like I’ve somehow managed to miss the part where you proposed, we had a wedding, and we lived happily ever after.”
That earns a real laugh.
“They always know exactly how to twist the narrative to make it juicy.”
There it is. The deflection.
I smile. Or at least, I try.
Because now I know. He’s not in love with me. Not really.
I pull up one of the pictures, setting my phone on the counter.
“Right. You are an actor, after all,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “You probably have these types of scenes nailed down to perfection. I’m honestly surprised no one’s called it a PR stunt.”
“A stunt? You think I’m that good at acting on demand?” he picks up my phone to look at the images, smiling briefly. His words sound cocky, but his tone is soft, unsure.
Yes? No? I don’t know! I hide behind my coffee mug.
“I can see you overthinking this,” he says, reaching for my hands. “Forget the comments. They’ll always say whatever sells best. It’s rarely the truth. It’s easier to ignore.”
I nod, not convinced. His gears are turning just as fast as mine. We stare at each other—neither of us brave enough to ask the question that’s hanging in the air like fog.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I shouldn’t be online anyway. It’s never good.”
He crosses the kitchen to where I’m sitting and embraces me. His palm smoothing over my hair. The touch lingers, and I realize I’m holding back tears.
I don’t fully recover.
For the rest of the day until I get to my apartment, I’m all fake smiles. I hide every thought, every feeling—because the moment I let something slip, I know it’ll be a waterfall. With every hug and every touch, it gets harder.
I think back, trying to pinpoint when the dynamic changed from trying to not fall in love to hoping he already has.
No one moves across the world for someone they don’t love.
I curse myself for not seeing this sooner.
I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but even I was sure the press was correct. How can you look at someone like that if it’s not real? Maybe I underestimated how good he is at his job. And if so, am I falling in love with the real Joshua Harrison or with a charade he puts up for the public eye?
I start scrolling through everything. Re-reading every message, zooming in on every picture, even pulling out the notes he left me at The Anchor. All moments that strengthen the realization that I probably do love this man. Moments that didn’t mean the same thing to him.
Doubt creeps in with a vengeance. And suddenly, I can’t stop wondering if I have been so careful—too much—that I pushed him away.
And ironically enough, still managed to fall myself.
I haven’t seen Jeff since I left for London. He’s never been a hands-on boss. Instead, he checks in when necessary, mostly through email.
Today is an exception for my two-month mark. I haven’t been in the best headspace—Mondays and stress don’t go well together. I’ve been nodding occasionally, but the doodles in my notepad are clear evidence I’m not all there.
“Your pitch is working out beautifully,” Jeff says through the screen. “I always knew you were the best fit to go overseas. I meant to tell you—your promotion is back on the table.”
If I hadn’t been working with him for four years, I might actually believe him. But I know Jeff. I can spot the performance behind his words.
Still, I should be elated. Everything I’ve worked for is back within reach.
“But…” he starts back up.
All eyes turn to him.
“That doesn’t sound promising.” It’s the second thing I’ve said all afternoon. He takes a beat to gather his thoughts.
“A leadership position comes with increased scrutiny. And although the board—the same lovely people who vote on leadership promotions—does think you’re an asset to the company, a bad headline can change everything.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Chris’s eyes go wide, mirroring my disbelief.
“You mean what I do with my personal life?”
It comes out sharper than I mean to, and Jeff lifts his hands like I’ve drawn a weapon. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do outside of work. I just thought I would give you a heads up. It’s how things work. Especially when you’re back here. Hollywood attention… it’s a double-edged sword.”
“Right…” I don’t have anything polite to say. In my head, I’m cursing him out in the one and a half languages I know. “Thanks for the advice, boss.”
I want to yell, but instead I take a deep breath and wait for him to stop talking so I can be dismissed. My hands are curled up into fists, straining my fingers.
At what point did the universe decide to chew me up, spit me out—then chew me again for good measure?
It’s like the second I let myself believe I might love him, the world threw me another curveball: my promotion or Harrison.