Chapter 33
Back in L.A., life is both the same as before and completely different.
Michelle decides she likes her OB-GYN too much to leave before the baby is born, so Tim switches to a temporarily remote schedule at work and moves back in.
Otherwise, my living situation doesn’t change.
We drink our usual smoothies every morning.
I still teach the same number of classes per week, but my time slots are better, and I barely cross paths with Caleb.
I no longer slap the brick wall before entering the studio.
When Tracy gives me notes, I nod and smile and incorporate about twenty percent of what she says into my classes.
The rest I do my way, and if she’s unhappy with that, she doesn’t say so.
My metrics are good, and maybe that’s all that matters.
I meet our newest instructor, a former college runner named Hannah, and she looks a little intimidated after touring the studio for the first time, so I invite her on a hike. It’s a three-miler; I know my limits.
Michelle recommends a financial planner, and I meet with her. We crunch numbers. I plot my next steps. I didn’t expect a spreadsheet to make me emotional, but really, is there anything more romantic than reshaping the logistics of your life to be with the people you love?
Twice a week, Bailey and I video chat, and Nate and I text occasionally. Updates on the camp, a picture of Jolly the Clown, a long exchange after Breanne connects me with the All she offered the first time we went to dinner together.
Every night, I stare at the numbers—income and debt and savings—and try not to get my hopes up.
During my first class back, I filter the leaderboard to show only the riders who are taking their first-ever CycleLove class, something I always do while giving my shout-outs.
There are a lot of names on the list, but one catches my eye.
HeyItsMe is the username. I notice it because instead of the usual hashtags that people use to find others similar to them—dads and seniors and nurses and people from Oregon—this person’s are unique: #dontstoppedaling and #thefloorislava.
It can’t be. He hasn’t said anything about acquiring a membership.
But I just know it is, and a giant grin spreads across my face.
“We’ll be out of the saddle in the next song,” I say, then tap the icon next to his username to add him to my friends list. A notification pops up on his screen instantly, I know, so I look directly into the camera like I’m looking at him and offer a softer, more private smile.
He doesn’t say anything about it after class, and neither do I. But the next day, he’s there again, this time with the hashtags #yourchallenge and #usethewordskedaddle. I have to fight to hold in my laughter when I urge my riders to take the next interval like they’re skedaddling from a lion’s den.
In my next class, on Saturday morning, he only uses one hashtag, but it’s a powerful one: #imissyou.
My heart threatens to burst. “I miss you too,” I say directly to the camera, pausing before adding, “if you’re part of my usual Saturday crew and we haven’t ridden together in a while. I’m glad you’re here now.”
The studio used to be a lonely place, but HeyItsMe changes that. He may not be in the room, but I feel connected to him here.
The All & Every deal should be final any day now.
I haven’t told him what I’m hoping for yet.
It’s still a little fuzzy, and I’d like to be able to give him a clear picture of what to expect once I know what they’re offering.
It doesn’t worry me, because we’re talking via text and flirting via hashtag, and I know patience will pay off.
But then he misses a class. And maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but it also makes me wonder if maybe I don’t actually have all the time in the world to figure this out. I call him when I get back to Michelle’s house, but he doesn’t pick up.
That night, I sleep poorly, which makes it a challenge to drag myself to the studio the following morning. When I see his username at the top of my list, the tightness in my chest evaporates and I almost cry from relief. I need to talk to him today. No more playing around.
I’m so focused on my relief, it takes a moment for the hashtags to register: #dinnertonight? and #partyoftwo.
I’m not sure what they mean. But I know what I hope they mean. And the joy I feel is so powerful, so precious, I pretend to wipe sweat off my face just so I can hide my happiness. It belongs only to me and him.
It’s a thirty-minute class, and when it’s over, I grab my stuff and sprint outside. He never called me back, and I have no texts but—
“I know this may be a little too on the nose,” a voice says behind me, “but hey. It’s me.”
And there he is. HeyItsMe. Nate. Standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, mouth tilted down at the corner. When he lifts his sunglasses, there’s a mischievous crinkle around his eyes.
I stop short, but it feels like my heart keeps moving toward him. “You’re not dressed for spin class.”
He holds up his phone, open to the CycleLove app. “I never actually took one. Didn’t pay for it either, on principle. I found a code for a free trial somewhere.”
I open my mouth to tell him everything, but he cuts me off.
“Wait. Let me. I’m going to tell you something about yourself, Quinn, and as soon as you hear it, I hope you know it’s true.
” He sticks his hands back in his pockets and takes a step toward me.
“You’re an incredible fucking person. All of you.
You deserve to be loved when you’re happy and sad and everything else.
And I want to be the person who gets to love you.
I know you said you needed time, but I’m hoping you’ve had enough of it. ”
A broken sob comes out of my mouth.
“Please believe it,” he says. “I love you. I want to be your date to every party. I want to keep you company on your quiet nights at home. Hopefully more of the latter than the former, if I’m being honest. Let’s just be together, whatever that needs to look like.”
“I love you too, Nate.” I step closer to him, my voice shaking. “I meant it in Asheville. I know I shouldn’t have said it then, and I’m sorry if it made things harder, but it was the truth. I want to be with you, and I’m trying to figure out how.”
His arm wraps around my waist, and he buries his head in my hair. “Ask me to do long-distance, Quinn. I promise I’ll make it worthwhile.”
“No,” I say.
He freezes and pulls back, his face blank with shock.
I grab his hands and squeeze. “I’m leaving CycleLove. I’m moving to Seapoint.”
His eyes go wide. “What? For real?”
“Not right away,” I warn him. “There’s no way I’m quitting before I get my year-end bonus.
I’m still trying to figure out exactly when I can do it—hopefully by January.
Until then, I’m going to work as hard as possible and put every extra penny toward my debt.
I’ll eat as much free food as I can from the CycleLove kitchen and FaceTime my boyfriend on the weekends instead of going out.
I’ll do sponsored posts for All & Every and have plenty of time to figure out what I’m going to do next.
Something with benefits, until I can figure out a way to open my own studio. ”
He squeezes my waist. “I can totally see you running your own studio. Doing it your way.”
There’s one thing I’m still anxious about other than money. “I’ll have to use social media to promote it.”
There’s no hint of judgment on his face.
“Good,” he says. “Everyone should know where to go for the best spin classes around. It was never Instagram or whatever that I hated. All I hated was that it was a burden on you. But fair warning, if I’m taking your pictures, you’re getting at least one close-up of your nostrils every time. It’s who I am.”
The last bit of anxiety slips away. I bite back my smile.
“Once my bonus hits my bank account, I’ll be able to give Tracy my notice.
Bailey is going to let me move in with her, although I had to commit to helping her plant a vegetable garden, which I’ll probably be terrible at.
And once Michelle moves, I’ll get to see her and her family whenever I want. ”
“Let’s go back to that boyfriend you’re FaceTiming,” Nate says.
“Let’s,” I say. “He wears the hell out of a pair of board shorts and an oxford shirt. And I think we’re going to be very happy together.”
“You and me.” He nudges my chin toward him with his fingertips, and his lips press against mine.
This kiss is soft and passionate at the same time, and it heals what’s left of the wound caused by the last few weeks.
I wrap my hands around his neck and slide one down his back, across the soft fabric of a T-shirt I’ve seen him wear a million times.
Seapoint, I know it says, in patchy white lettering.
Home, I think. Exactly what I’ve chosen. I’m brimming with excitement and apprehension and joy, all kinds of feelings that for once don’t separate themselves into red and green. I just feel them. And they feel right.