Chapter 18
The Final Episode
Andrew
"Hey, Andy?"
Vince's voice carries a seriousness, an uncharacteristically ominous tone that immediately catches my attention.
I'm bent over, retying my shoe midway through our morning run, the laces frayed from constant use.
For a brief moment, heat floods my cheeks.
.. has he caught me admiring his calves again?
The way they flex with each powerful stride, the definition in his muscles as he runs ahead of me, effortlessly commanding the trail.
I can feel my pulse quicken, and I hope he attributes my flushed face to exertion rather than my wandering thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"I made a dinner reservation at Villa tonight. You know, that new Italian place on Ventura."
The name Villa immediately brings to mind images of white tablecloths, flickering candlelight, and waiters in crisp black aprons.
It's the kind of place where a single dinner costs more than my weekly grocery budget, the kind of place people go for anniversaries or to propose.
My mind races with implications, with questions I'm not sure I want answered.
"Oh, okay. For Sam? Are you finally going to tell her about Hawaii?" I force a smile while standing back up, rolling my ankles a bit before we both start running again.
The crisp morning air makes our breath visible, a sign of the changing season. Each puff of white vapor hangs momentarily before dissipating, like unspoken words between us. I can feel the slight ache in my thighs as we resume our pace, the familiar burn that comes from pushing myself.
Vince wears a strange look on his face, one I can't quite read.
His usual easy smile is replaced by something more guarded, his brow slightly furrowed as if he's carefully considering each word before speaking. The morning sunlight filters through the trees, casting shadows that dance across his features, making his expression even harder to decipher.
"Not exactly. I was actually wondering if you're free."
I nearly stumble over an uneven patch of pavement, catching myself at the last second. The question hangs between us as I turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you asking me out to dinner? At a fancy restaurant?"
The morning air feels suddenly colder, or maybe it's just the chill that runs down my spine at his invitation.
This is crossing a line, isn't it? Dinner alone, at a place like Villa.
.. it sounds suspiciously like a date, and we both have partners who would not appreciate this development.
And Sam... Sam seems wonderful, from what little I know of her.
"Yeah, I guess I am," he says with a laugh, but his eyes don't quite match the humor in his voice.
There's something else there, something searching and uncertain that makes my heart beat a little faster.
He glances away, focusing on the path ahead as if the cracked sidewalk has suddenly become fascinating.
I search for a witty response but come up empty, my usual arsenal of comebacks completely depleted.
My mind is too busy processing the implications, too busy imagining what it would be like to sit across from him in that intimate setting, sharing breadsticks and conversation while the rest of the world fades away.
"Why?"
The question hangs between us, my breath catching as I process the implications.
His voice carries that casual tone he adopts when discussing matters he finds both exciting and nerve-wracking, a combination I've come to recognize over our months of runs and shared jokes.
The morning sun filters through the sparse canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows across the path that suddenly feels more significant, like we're crossing some invisible threshold.
"The shoot wraps up today. We're filming the 10th episode this morning."
Each word lands with unexpected weight. Ten episodes.
That's nearly three months of our lives, of early morning calls and late-night text exchanges, of inside jokes that only make sense in the context of our shared experience. I can feel my throat tighten as the reality of it settles in, the sudden finality of it all hitting me like a physical blow.
All those stolen moments on set, the way his eyes would find mine across a crowded room, the subtle touches that felt like lightning strikes—ending today.
"Oh, God!" I laugh lightly, realizing he's right. "I forgot."
The sound that escapes me is hollow, a pathetic attempt at humor that doesn't quite land.
It's the kind of laugh you use when you're caught off guard, when someone mentions your birthday and you haven't remembered it yourself.
The realization hits me with a force that leaves me slightly breathless—this thing that has become so integral to my routine, this daily interaction I've built my mornings around, is ending.
"You forgot?" Vince side-eyes me with a smile that looks more pained than amused.
It reminds me of the times I've felt awkward at work, when someone says something that hits a little too close to home.
His expression is a complex tapestry of emotions I can't quite untangle.
There's disappointment there, and something else, something softer that makes my chest ache.
"This is it. This is the big day, Andy, and you forgot?"
His use of my nickname, always delivered with that particular blend of affection and exasperation, sends a familiar warmth through me even as my stomach twists with guilt.
How could I forget? How could I not have marked this day in my calendar, counted down to it with some combination of dread and anticipation?
I've been so caught up in my own drama with Ted, so wrapped up in these feelings I'm trying to untangle, that I let this milestone slip by unnoticed.
"No, I mean, I didn't forget exactly, it's just... I guess it hasn't hit me yet."
The words tumble out, a clumsy explanation that doesn't quite capture the truth.
I haven't forgotten, not really—how could I when every morning starts with the thought of seeing him?
But I haven't allowed myself to think about the end, to acknowledge that this chapter is closing.
The thought of no more early morning drives, no more shared jokes in the makeup trailer, no more excuses to spend time together.
It's too much to process, so I've pushed it aside, buried it under layers of denial and wishful thinking.
He laughs, bumping his shoulder against mine. "It's hitting me pretty hard. But that's not the point."
I shake my head, still unsure what he's up to. "My instruction work has picked up a lot lately. I've just been so busy. The acting stuff has been kind of an afterthought, honestly." The words feel both true and hollow as they leave my lips.
My schedule has been packed with clients, their names and faces blurring together in a relentless cycle of appointments, but that's not the whole truth.
The real reason I haven't thought about the show ending is that thinking about it feels too much like admitting this chapter of my life—this Vince-infused chapter—is closing for good.
The mornings will still come, but they'll be emptier without our shared rhythm of running routes and inside jokes.
"Does that mean this is officially the end of your acting career?" Vince jokes, glancing at me as we run.
I manage a laugh that feels stretched thin across my face. "I'm sorry to say, it probably is. My very fruitful acting career is officially over." The words taste like ash as they leave my mouth. "My IMDB page is going to be so sad."
Vince's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and for a moment, I wonder if he feels it too—the sudden emptiness that comes with endings. The morning air feels colder now, or maybe it's just the realization sinking in that our shared routine is about to change.
"Come on," he says, his voice light but strained. "It's not over. You're too talented to quit."
I shake my head, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm not quitting. Just... taking a break. Maybe." The truth is, I'm not sure what comes next. All I know is that the thought of not seeing him every day feels like a weight settling in my chest.
We run in silence for a few moments, the only sounds our footsteps on the pavement and the distant chirping of birds. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't dare look at him. If I do, I'm afraid he'll see right through me, see the mess of feelings I've been trying to keep buried.
"So," he says finally, breaking the silence. "Dinner tonight? Just us. To celebrate the end of... well, this."
The offer hangs in the air, tempting and dangerous all at once. I know I should say no, that an intimate dinner alone with him is a terrible idea, but the thought of turning him down feels like losing something precious before I've even had a chance to hold it.
"Okay," I hear myself say, the word slipping out before I can stop it. "Dinner sounds good."
Vince's face lights up, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The weight of my unhappiness with Ted, the uncertainty of my career, the ache in my chest—it all disappears, replaced by the simple, undeniable warmth of his smile.
And just like that, I know I'm in deeper trouble than I ever imagined.
"Are you still going to run with me?" Vince asks, his breath visible as he runs beside me.
The words hit me harder than the uneven pavement I nearly trip over.
My feet tangle for a moment, my ankle twisting precariously as I struggle to regain my balance.
Vince steadies me with a hand on my elbow, his touch sending a jolt through me that has nothing to do with the near fall.
The morning air feels suddenly thinner, harder to breathe, as the full weight of his question sinks in.
Are we still going to run together? Of course. How could we not?
But the question carries more weight than just our shared morning routine. He's asking what happens when the cameras stop rolling, when there's no set to report to, when this thing that brought us together is suddenly gone.
I straighten up, pulling away from his touch even as every part of me wants to lean into it, to prolong the contact. "Yeah," I manage, the word catching in my throat. "Of course."
But even as I say it, I wonder how many more mornings we have like this, how many more times I'll get to feel the burn in my lungs and the warmth of his presence beside me before it all changes, before everything changes.
"Vince, why the hell wouldn't I run with you anymore?"
He laughs, the sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead in damp tendrils.
I notice the faint streaks of silver in his hair, something he hasn't bothered to hide lately, catching the morning light like threads of moonlight.
They're more prominent now that he's stopped dying his hair, the early sun angling through the trees to illuminate them.
They're like secrets he's stopped keeping, subtle signs of aging that only seem to enhance his features rather than diminish them.
The sight of them sends an unexpected pang through my chest.
"Well, nothing's stopping you, but I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to put up with me anymore."
I roll my eyes, unable to hide the smile that tugs at my lips despite the serious turn our conversation has taken. "Vince, quit being a dork. Of course, I'll still run with you. We're not just coworkers on a gig, we're friends."
The words feel both true and inadequate as they leave my mouth, a simplification of something far more complex. I pull my jacket tighter around me as if that could protect my heart from the ridiculous hope swelling in my chest.
His grin spreads across his face like a kid who's just been handed a lollipop, wide and unguarded.
The transformation is remarkable—the usual carefully constructed mask of casual indifference drops away, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath.
His eyes, usually guarded with humor, soften at the edges, and I can see the relief washing over him in waves.
It's a look I've rarely seen, one that makes my breath catch.
The fact that he's sad about not working with me anymore sends butterflies fluttering through my stomach, a chaotic dance of nerves and excitement.
I wish I could tell him... I'd do anything to spend more time with you.
You're my favorite person. The thought is so overwhelming that I have to bite my tongue to keep the words from spilling out.
Instead, I focus on the rhythmic slap of our running shoes against the pavement, the steady beat that has become the soundtrack to these early morning encounters.
His presence beside me feels as natural as breathing, and the thought of it ending—even just the professional part—leaves an ache deep in my bones.
"Hey, Andy?"
I turn my head, my breath still coming in short bursts from our run. "Yeah?"
"So... about Villa tonight. Six o'clock. Still on?" He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly looking uncertain.
I meet his eyes, the morning light making them seem darker than usual. "Yeah. I'll be there."