Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
SOME KINDA WONDERFUL — SKY
“Time to eat!” Molly’s voice calls out from the front door of the Airbnb, shoving it closed with her hip as she balances a giant pizza box in both hands.
The strap of her purse, which is tucked like a football under her arm, is slowly starting to slide down her shoulder.
I glance quickly from the TV to her, then back to the TV, where I’m currently destroying Morgan in Mario Kart.
For the fifth time.
Do I feel bad, that I’m schooling a nine-year-old in video games?
No. Absolutely not.
Because this wicked little thing kicked my ass, with zero sympathy, in Super Smash Bros. not even an hour ago, and it’s time to get my revenge.
“Not fair!” Morgan screams as her character, Princess Peach, bails out on another one of the banana peels I’ve thrown behind me on the final lap.
“Guys, I said it’s time to eat. Let’s press pause on the game, okay?” Molly says sternly, her Mom Voice in full effect. It’s weird. I never thought she would be the responsible one.
“Give me thirty more seconds, Moll, I gotta show your kid that she needs to respect her elders,” I grit out just as I zoom past the finish line. Morgan scoffs and tosses her controller to the side.
“Whatever,” she sneers. “I just need some practice. I’ll get you next time.”
“You better,” I say with a wink, and her face breaks into a playful smile as we both stand and head into the dining room, where Molly disappeared with the pizza.
“Looks like you two had fun while I was out,” she says, pulling out pieces from the box and dropping them onto paper plates for both of us. “I really appreciate you watching her, Chlo.”
“I think she watched me more than I watched her, to be honest.”
“How was the interview, Mom?” Morgan asks brightly, as she takes a seat at the beautiful walnut table with its brilliant blue stripe of epoxy down the middle.
It’s the nicest table I’ve ever seen. Actually, this is the nicest Airbnb I’ve ever seen.
The swanky condo was paid for by the show for Molly and Morgan to stay in while they’re in town for the finale and post-finale interviews.
Everything is bright, white, and modern, with colorful abstract art placed throughout and gorgeous live-edge wood pieces on display in every room—much like the table I’m currently sitting at, feeling slightly guilty about using it just to eat greasy pizza off a paper plate.
“It was great,” Molly says, taking a seat next to her daughter.
Sitting side-by-side, they look like twins, only twenty-one years apart.
Morgan is tall like her mom, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes.
I notice a few of her dad’s features, too; her mouth in particular is fuller, and her eye shape is more Colin than Molly.
If that piece of shit had ever taken Molly up on any of her offers to meet his child, he’d see himself in Morgan, for sure.
But I’m relieved that, of either of them, Morgan takes after her mother the most. Not just in looks, but in personality, too.
She’s spunky and whip-smart, and her heart is so big.
“Do you have to head back to the studio again today?” I ask, after demolishing my first piece of pizza and picking up a second.
“Yeah, they’re drawing up the contract as we speak. I’ll have to grab it tonight to look over with my lawyer, and then they want an answer in a few days.”
After filming ended, the world was shocked by the announcement that Tom Tomlinson would be taking a break from hosting to pursue other opportunities in showbiz.
Rumor behind the scenes was that he’d pissed off one-too-many female producers with his blatant and over-the-line sexual harassment, and the network wanted him gone before it became a scandal.
It was recommended that he be replaced with a woman, ideally one who fans and viewers loved and who wasn’t afraid to tell it like it is.
Glen recommended Molly, and after numerous rounds of interviews and meetings with the network, she’d gotten the call—she would be the new host of Love at First Sail. We had celebrated like we were in college again, getting drunk at some karaoke bar the night she got the news.
But the next day we celebrated with Morgan, who really only wanted to go shopping, and Molly bought that kid anything and everything she wanted. Because, for once in her daughter’s life, she could afford to.
That night, we ordered take-out and watched Gilmore Girls while cuddled up on the couch. I may or may not have cried into my popcorn once or twice at the realization of how empty my life had been just a few months ago, and how full it’s been since Molly—and Morgan, too—came into my life.
The doorbell rings, and Molly and I both shout in unison, “Come in!”
From the foyer, we hear the heavy front door bang open, then click shut. A moment later, Sora appears in the doorway, a bright smile on her face.
“Hey, Sora!” Morgan exclaims, motioning for her to come sit next to her. Ever since our little group formed post-season, Morgan has taken a considerable liking to Sora. They talk about manga, TV shows I’ve never heard of, and bands whose names are completely foreign to me.
“Sorry I’m late,” Sora says ruefully as she slides in next to Morgan, grabbing a plate and piling it with several slices of pizza.
She drops her phone on the table, face up, and I notice a social app open to the Love at First Sail feed, collecting every post about the show as it happens in real time.
I glance between the phone and her, then ask, “Anything new?”
“Not really,” Sora says, locking the phone so the screen darkens. “I think the world has finally moved on to something else.”
Relief floods my body.
In the week since the finale, all anyone’s wanted to talk about is Duncan’s proposal, Molly’s redemption, and what was going to happen next for them.
But now, I just want to turn my brain off.
That, and Nolan only has a few days left of his vacation, then he’s heading back to Italy for another month aboard the Gemstone. So, I want to make our time together worthwhile.
I want to talk about our future, instead of someone else’s.
“Things will heat up again in a few weeks, when they announce Molly’s new role,” a deep voice says from behind me, and I jump, turning to see Nolan walk into the room.
I hadn’t heard the front door, nor had I been expecting him.
Not that it mattered. I didn’t care why he was here, just that he was.
My cheeks warm at the sight of him. Even after three months of dating—some of it long-distance—I still get those nervous butterflies whenever I hear his voice or see his smile.
He just feels like home to me, and I never want to let go of that feeling.
Nolan runs his hands through his black waves—which are a little longer now than when we first met—probably trying to tame the strands that were whipped around in the uncharacteristically windy weather LA has been having lately.
“Hey, Nolan,” Molly says, giving him a little wave and a friendly smile. I stand quickly and hurry over to him to wrap my arms around his neck, breathing in his scent and reveling in the warmth of his body as his arms encircle me firmly.
“Hey, baby,” he whispers into my neck, and I melt, giving him a kiss on the cheek before we break apart and sit next to each other at the table.
“Sorry, sorry!” another deep voice calls out from the foyer, and I swivel my head to see the familiar face of Freddie, the Lunar Lounge’s mixologist, as he enters the room. “This eedjit made me park, and I can’t figure out how to drive in this backward country,” he grumbles.
I notice Sora’s eyes widen, and a blush instantly blooms across her cheeks before she snatches her phone up and taps away on it, as if she just got the most important email of her life. I quirk a brow as she looks up to catch my gaze, then she clears her throat and mutters, “Oh, hi, Freddie.”
“I thought you were heading to the airport today?” I ask, my gaze ping-ponging between the two of them as Freddie sits as far away from Sora as possible.
Nolan and I exchange a suspicious glance.
“My flight’s in a few hours. Figured I still had some time to give you a proper farewell,” Freddie explains good-naturedly.
When Freddie found out Nolan was visiting me in LA for the finale, he made the last-minute decision to tag along, saying that he had never been to America before.
But based on how Sora and Freddie have been acting around each other, something tells me there’s more to that story than he’s letting on.
I make a mental note to bring it up the next time Sora and I talk. Which won’t be for a while in person, as she’s leaving tomorrow for London to assist on another reality TV dating show. I’m happy for her. She’s come a long way from the nervous newbie I met on the plane a few months ago.
“So, Chloe, am I going to see you back on the ship for next season?” Freddie asks.
Nolan puts his hand on my leg, a comforting reminder that, whether we’re in the same place or not, he’s always there.
“No, I’m afraid not,” I say. “I’m heading to your home country, actually.”
Freddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I’m filming some interviews for a sizzle reel. It’s like a trailer, of sorts.”
“A trailer for what?” He seems excited, leaning forward and cradling his chin in his palm with his elbow propped on the table.
“My documentary,” I say shyly, a smile curling at my lips.
“Oh, Chlo, tell Freddie about it,” Molly says, reaching across the table to the pizza box to grab another slice.
“Yeah, tell him!” Morgan cheers.
Nolan bumps my shoulder gently with his and gives me a look, as if encouraging me to go on.
I chuckle softly. “Alright… Do you want to hear about it?”
Freddie nods eagerly, and I set the scene, ready to tell him all about the idea I’ve had banging around in my head for years.
“Once upon a time, the world told a girl she couldn’t do something… Couldn’t be something,” I start, my voice shaky. I flick my eyes to Morgan, whose attention on me is rapt. “But then that girl decided to tell the world to fuck off, and she did it anyway.”
Freddie’s brows lift, and I smirk.
I dive into my pitch, the one I’ve been developing with Molly’s help, about ten incredible women who decided to reject what they were told they were capable of and followed their hearts instead, pursuing unique careers in fields that are dominated by men.
Freddie eagerly asks questions; Nolan punctuates our conversation with his own thoughts—usually compliments about me—and Sora gets excited when I reveal some of the women I’ve identified as potential subjects.
It’s nice, telling my friends, the people who bring such warmth and fullness to my life, about my aspirations, my dreams, and having them be excited for me.
For the first time in a very long time, I feel it again…that tiny seed of creativity unfurling in my chest, blooming slowly beneath the surface and breathing new life back into that needling desire to create art, to tell a story, and to—finally, on my own terms—be seen.