Chapter 2 Now #2
Ross cuts in before I can panic any further. “Let me stop you right there. You’re spiraling. I’ve worked with you for almost three years now. I know what you’re capable of. You’re going to write another book. You just need time to marinate on what it’s going to be about.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is. Or at least it will be. Let’s work backward. How did the first two ideas come to you? What were the lightbulb moments when you thought, There’s a novel here?”
I let his question hang in the air as I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. My brain floats to those early days, when writing felt less like a career move and more like this private, sacred thing.
“I mean,” I start slowly, “if you want to get technical, they both started with a meet-cute.”
Ross makes a sound like he’s nodding on the other end. “Okay, good. There’s your breadcrumb. So what even is a meet-cute to you?”
I stare up at the paneled ceiling. “It’s when two people meet by chance in a way that feels a little cinematic.
Not just bumping into each other at a bar but spilling coffee on each other in a Starbucks and then having to use the hand dryer in the bathroom to get the stain out.
Or getting stuck in an elevator on New Year’s Eve with a total stranger who just happens to end up being your person. ”
“Fate with a side of chaos,” Ross says.
“Exactly.” I pause. “Where Do We Go Now? started because I thought it’d be fun to trap two strangers on a Ferris wheel.
I just loved the idea of two people being stuck in one place long enough to have no choice but to talk.
And then The Lucky Ones, as you know, was all my parents.
The grocery store, the cereal box, my dad’s whole love-at-first-sight bit. ”
“And what about Cole?”
I hesitate. “Friend of a friend. He helped my roommates and me move one summer.”
“That’s it?”
“It was more charming than it sounds,” I say quickly. “You kind of had to be there.”
We’re both quiet for a moment.
I chew on the edge of my thumbnail, thinking. “I guess I’ve always liked the idea that love could find you in some unexpected moment. Instead of when you’re searching for it.”
“So maybe don’t overthink this one. Maybe the meet-cute hasn’t happened yet. But it’ll come, and then off you go, writing.”
Maybe he’s right. I sit there a moment longer, the glow of my laptop screen reflecting back at me.
Part of me wants to believe it could really be that simple—that the idea will just show up one day, like it always has.
But another part knows I’ll keep twisting myself in knots until it does, because waiting has never been my strong suit.
* * *
Back at home, I settle into the small desk tucked in the corner of my apartment.
Living near downtown Raleigh has its perks—coffee shops, workout classes, bars, and late-night takeout, all within walking distance.
It’s the heart of the city. But the price of convenience is steep rent, which means my one-bedroom is efficient, to say the least. The living room doubles as my office, separated from my shoebox of a bedroom by a single doorway, with the kitchen just steps away.
It’s hardly Pinterest-worthy but I’ve made it work.
After the breakup, I only had forty-eight hours to decide whether I was re-signing or moving out.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of packing up my life, so I stayed.
Looking back, I wish I hadn’t, because this apartment has reminders of Cole written all over it.
There’s the bed that used to be a disaster every morning because he was a hot sleeper and kicked off the sheets any chance he got.
The couch we spent Sundays curled up on, bingeing Netflix and ordering Insomnia Cookies.
The framed photos I took down but still don’t have the heart to replace.
Everywhere I look, there’s a ghost of the life we built together, and no matter how hard I try, this place still feels like ours rather than mine.
I don’t realize I’m letting my thoughts run away with me until Winston, my stubborn little dachshund, lets out a dramatic sigh from his bed across the room.
Cole bought him for us when we were two years into dating.
He was our version of a shared commitment, even if we never officially lived together.
After the breakup, Cole let me keep him, but ever since, Winston has refused to sleep in my bed.
It’s like he’s working through his own version of heartbreak and punishing me just a little bit in the process.
I glance over at him. “You too, huh?”
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I go through the motions of my skin care routine—cleanser, serum, moisturizer—my fingers moving on autopilot. My brain feels like mush after today, and the only thing that’ll get my mind off Cole is to get some sleep.
The apartment is quiet, but the silence isn’t comforting.
It’s too quiet, the kind of quiet that reminds me of everything that’s missing.
Like brushing my teeth next to Cole, bumping elbows at the sink.
Or the way he used to playfully tuck me into bed so tightly I couldn’t move, tickling me as I protested.
Or how we used to fall asleep tangled up in each other, our legs hooked together, his arm draped over my waist. Now, I climb into bed alone and spread out, my arm landing on the cold, empty side that hasn’t been slept in for weeks.
Through the thin walls, I hear laughter followed by a deep voice and a giggle. The joys of apartment living, where privacy doesn’t exist and the walls are paper thin.
I glance at my phone; it reads 10:05 p.m.
I wonder if I’ll ever have a love like that again. One where we’re still enjoying each other’s company from the moment we wake up until our heads hit the pillow. Where being together and just existing in the same space is enough.
The laughter dies down. And then comes a thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will somehow make it stop, but instead the bed frame slams against the wall as they find a pace with an enthusiasm that almost feels personal.
Another thud, louder this time, rattles the canvas that’s hanging above my headboard. Winston lifts his head from his dog bed, ears twitching, and lets out another long sigh before curling back up again.
“I know, buddy,” I say before shoving my face into a pillow.
The bed frame bangs one last time, followed by silence.
Lucky them.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, the quiet somehow louder than the noise that came before. I should be asleep by now, but instead my mind drifts, back to my conversation with Ross.
Meet-cutes. He made it sound so simple: Go back to where it all began. And like muscle memory, my brain reaches for one story in particular.
At first it was more chaotic than romantic—the kind of moment you don’t realize is significant until a little bit later—but it’s where everything started.
I close my eyes, letting the memory take shape, and just like that, I’m exactly where I was three summers ago.
Back in cutoff shorts and a college T-shirt, hair sticking to my neck, arms full of boxes.
Back in the moment I met Cole. Then I reach for my phone, open my notes app, and let the words flow.