24. ADRIAN
ADRIAN
Most romantic things to do in LA.
The cursor blinks in the search bar. I look at what I've typed. Consider it a moment. Then I press enter.
The results come back. Sunset hikes. Rooftop bars. The Griffith Observatory. Venice Canals Walkway, quiet and scenic, arched bridges. Horseback riding at sunset in the Hollywood Hills.
I scroll.
This is not something I do. I don't search for romantic things. I show up, make it good, and leave before it becomes something it has to be named. I don't plan the next part.
I certainly don't sit at my desk at nine in the morning with a case brief open in another tab while I look up moonlit picnics in Malibu.
And yet.
I click on a link about a private botanical garden in Pasadena that does evening tours. Read the first paragraph. Close it.
She was the first woman who ever stayed the night. That's what’s on my mind. Not what happened between us, but the after.
And in the morning I panicked. I went cold and clipped, and she felt every degree of it before she left. I've been trying to figure out how to undo that ever since. Hence, my research about romantic activities as a form of apology.
Sienna has me twisted in knots. Acting out of character.
Exhibit A: I allowed a woman to spend the night.
Exhibit B: I am currently researching horseback riding at sunset.
I scroll past a jazz cruise. Past an architectural tour of downtown that has no business being on a romantic list. Past a cooking class in Silver Lake.
The desk phone rings, rescuing me from a deep dive into finding out more about hot springs.
I pick up. "Mr. Kade?" My secretary's voice. "Mr. Hill is here to see you."
That’s odd. I wasn't expecting him. "Send him through."
I hang up and close the tab.
Carter comes through the door, I stand and we do our customary half hug.
"If this is about the Bali contracts," I say, "they'll be on your desk Friday. As promised."
Carter shakes his head. By the way he is looking at me I know that whatever brought him here is serious. And if it's not about Bali, it can only be about the other subject that lately we have in common
"Sienna," I say.
"Sienna," he confirms.
I gesture for us to sit in the office area that has two sofas, opposite each other, with a coffee table in the middle.
Carter sits forward, forearms on his knees, weight settled and deliberate.
I go to the opposite side, lean back with both arms along the top of the cushions.
I know I'm performing a looseness I don't entirely feel.
"I'm going to be direct," Carter says. "I care about Sienna. A lot." He holds eye contact. "And from what she shared with me, I think we find ourselves in some sort of a triangle."
I raise an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Drop the act." Carter looks directly at me "You're not in a courtroom, so stop with the bullshit. Let’s talk straight here. Do you like her?"
I drop my performance, stand up and cross to the coffee machine on the credenza and make two espressos. I need the time to think about how to answer Carter’s question more than I need the coffee. I think about what I'm willing to say and what I'm not.
I carry both cups over. Set one in front of Carter. Sit back down.
"Whether I like her or not, it’s not relevant," I say. "You know my circumstances. I can’t drag someone along for what might be a short race. I don't have the right."
"Come on! You're as healthy as you've ever been."
"I'm still within the five-year mark." Six weeks more to go. I have that number branded in fire in my brain. "You know the statistics. They are not in my favour"
"That’s BS and you know it. Everybody can get sick at any point." He points a finger at my direction. " You are just being a coward, hiding behind your condition."
I feel the intensity of his words as a punch to the gut.
Carter is right. I've been so focused on surviving that I forgot to live. So, I might as well give him the truth.
"Yeah, I like her" I look at him and add, "A lot." I turn the espresso cup on the table. "We had a… moment. And then I was an asshole to her, so at this point she probably has no interest in having anything to do with me."
Carter looks at me steadily. "You're wrong." A pause. "She has feelings for you. She told me yesterday."
I stop turning the cup.
This intense feeling invades my chest, grabs my lungs and makes it hard to breathe. I almost don’t recognize it.
Hope.
I haven't let myself feel that in a long time.
When I look back at Carter I see hesitation in his face.
"And you," I say. "Where do you stand?"
Carter looks at the floor to ceiling windows behind me. He takes his time thinking and the silence in the room is not comfortable.
Finally he says, "I stand on the outside of it." He looks back at me. "I've had enough of triangles in my life."
I know what he is referring to. The scar that has never let him move on. I can’t remember a time where I’ve met a woman that Carter was dating.
I look him dead in the eyes, "You're the one who's being a coward."
Carter just scoffs. Short and dismissive.
"You're too scared to lose so you won’t even play the game," I can see that gets a raise out of him.
Carter's jaw tightens. "This is not a game. These are people's feelings."
"I know that."
"Then what are you actually suggesting?"
I don’t know what I’m suggesting. Not entirely. The idea is not fully formed. There is no real logic to it, and yet…
"We both go for it," I say. "We both date Sienna. See where it leads."
Carter looks at me for a long beat. "You're suggesting we turn it into a competition?" His voice has an edge to it now. Like he is forcing himself to stay in control. "She's not a thing to fight for."
"No." I admit. "She's not."
“So what exactly are you saying? We woo Sienna until she chooses one of us?
“Or…” I sit back on the sofa. I can’t believe what I’m about to suggest. “She doesn’t have to choose.”
Carter goes still. Like something just stopped working correctly. I can see him trying to figure out if I said what I just said.
"It seems that we both have strong feelings for her," my voice is steadier than I expected, the idea taking shape as I speak. "So maybe we stop making it a problem that needs solving. Maybe we let it be what it is."
Carter stands up. He is processing.
He takes two steps toward the window. Stops. Stands there looking out at nothing specific.
A long moment passes.
He turns around.
"You're out of your mind," he says. There is disbelief, but not weighted. More like a what if .
"That’s for sure. But that predates this situation." I joke.
I wait, and I watch him, and I can see the moment the idea stops being impossible and starts being something else. Something he's considering, turning over, evaluating pros and cons.
He comes back. Sits down. Picks up the espresso, looks at it, sets it down without drinking.
I can see he has made a decision he's not entirely comfortable with. And I can see that underneath the discomfort, underneath the resistance, he's in.
"Now," I sober up. "How do we do this?"
Carter looks at me for a long moment. Like I've just handed him something fragile and he's still deciding whether to hold it.
"I think," he says slowly, "I know how."