Chapter 16
Chapter
I wake up to a text from Theo.
Heard from Dan’s team. They want you to sing this week!
I sit up and read the text again, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My thumbs start typing then deleting, typing then deleting, until I decide to just call her.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” I breathe out. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Oh my God, no worries,” Theo says. “How’s New York?”
“It’s great,” I answer honestly. “How are you? I got your text.”
“Good, good,” she says, the sound of children screaming bloody murder behind her. “So, I heard lunch went well. They want you to come in and do a song.”
“Yeah, no problem. Ballad, I’m assuming?”
“Totally. I mean, between us, Dan absolutely loves you. There’s just a few producers who need to sign off. It’ll probably be tomorrow or Friday. I’ll let you know ASAP.”
“Sounds great. Thanks, Theo!” I allow myself to be excited.
“Of course,” she says. “I actually— BECKHAM! Give Stella back Squishy, now! So, I’ll be in New York on Friday for a gala. Will you be around?”
“Yeah, I’m here for another two weeks. What’s the gala?”
“Manhattan for Theater. You know I— Beckham! I’m not kidding—if you don’t give Squishy back right now, we are not getting acai bowls, ” Theo says, and I hear the sound of Beckham’s muffled crying in the background.
In instances like this, I do wonder why parents bargain with their kids, but what do I know?
“Okay, sorry,” Theo says to me. “So it’s Manhattan for Theater, the nonprofit.
I’m working on getting you an invite. I think it’s a good look if you attend. ”
“Sure, sounds good,” I say. “What time?”
“Oh, how am I supposed to know? I’ll email you— STELLA! HE JUST GAVE YOU BACK SQUISHY, WHY WOULD YOU THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW?! ” Theo shrieks. “June, I gotta go.”
“Oh God, okay, bye.” My eyes go wide, and she hangsup.
My body falls back onto the bed, and I pull a pillow over my face to conceal my stupid smile. Don’t jinx it, don’t jinx it, don’t jinxit.
To my surprise, I feel relieved when I see Adam downstairs.
The past week he’s always been out of the house by the time I wake up.
Before I walk any farther, I take a mental snapshot of this moment—a view I never thought I would see again.
He’s leaning against the counter in a gray T-shirt, glasses, and flannel pajama pants.
He has a cup of coffee in one hand while looking at his phone in the other.
I feel the looming cloud of tension over this house for the past week dissipate. Last night we passed a threshold, like we’re friends again.
“Morning,” I say softly.
Adam immediately looks up and puts his phone down. “Hey, coffee?”
“Please.” I take a seat on the other side of the island. He pours me a cup, froths some oat milk, and adds a dash of nutmeg. When it comes to serving people, nothing is ever simple with this man. “Thanks.” I take the mug and wrap my hands around the warmth ofit.
“I would’ve made breakfast, but I just woke up like ten minutes ago.” He runs his fingers through his hair, biceps fully on display. “What’s your day looking like?”
“Doing absolutely nothing.” I take a sip, excited to spend the day free as a bird. “Do you have work?”
“No, but I actually have to get some fresh produce for the restaurant.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Would you want to come?”
“You buy the produce yourself?” I look up at him.
“Not every week, but now that it’s autumn there are some things in peak harvest,” he says. “I try to buy an assortment of things and come up with any seasonal menu items. If they’re good, we’ll make a deal with the local vendors.”
“Wow.” I raise my eyebrows, thoroughly impressed. “I’m in.”
It’s the most perfectly crisp and clear October morning.
As Adam and I walk toward the perimeter of the Union Square farmers market, I’m hit with the smell of maple and the warmth of sunshine on my face.
Looking up, I see trees lined with golden leaves and a bright blue sky and ahead, a diverse crowd of people, all bundled in early fall attire.
Adam’s hair blows in the wind, and he squints as he looks down the path. It’s in moments like this when he’s not paying attention that I allow myself to look at him. I notice subtle lines around his eyes that have developed in our years apart.
“Do you come here often?” I ask as we walk side by side. It takes no effort for our bodies to become tuned to each other’s rhythm. We carefully observe the abundance of local vendors selling a variety of goods and produce.
“Probably once a month,” he says.
“Where do you live?” I ask, realizing we haven’t actually talked about this.
“Upper West Side.”
“What, do you own a restaurant or something?” I tease, knowing very well that that part of town is hardly affordable.
“Something like that.” He guides us to a vendor and starts looking at the purple cauliflower.
“I’m seeing Dan again this week,” I say.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m singing.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Nervous,” I admit, and it feels so freeing to say it.
Part of me doesn’t want Adam to know I’m scared.
It’s been five years, and I’m supposed to be better than this.
I’m supposed to want to show him how much better off I am and how confident I’ve become.
But he does this thing where he looks at me and doesn’t judge me.
Like my career isn’t the one thing that definesme.
“You’ve got this.” He’s doing that thing that he always used to do. Making me feel like everything is going to be okay. “What’ll happen if you get the part?”
I notice he doesn’t ask what the play or the role is, like it doesn’t matter. It never did for him. I could be playing Chorus Member 46 and he’d be just as excited forme.
“I guess I’d have to move back,” I say for the first time out loud. Some Broadway revivals are a minimum of five hundred shows even if they’re not successful.
I anticipate a response from Adam about how exciting that would be, but when I turn to look at him, there’s another look on his face, almost pensive.
“Is that what you want?” He bags up cauliflower, collard greens, winter squash, and fennel.
“The work is more important than where I do it,” I say.
Adam nods and we continue walking. We end up stopping at two more vendors for sweet potatoes and apples before I catch a glimpse of a booth that says coffee and instinctively take a step closer. We had a late night at Chloe’s and I wouldn’t hate having another fix of caffeine.
“Want some?” Adam asks over my shoulder.
“Please,” I say, but lose focus when he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me to walk forward. You learn something new every day, and the lesson of the morning is I didn’t know Adam Harper’s hand still had the ability to affect my heart rate.
The smell of freshly ground arabica coffee beans snaps me back and I take an extra step to escape his touch.
“What are you thinking?” Adam asks.
Normally I would order my regular oat milk latte, but there’s a seasonal menu framed to the side displaying concoctions like a rose cardamom latte and an autumn maple delight that pique my interest. I also notice that they have apple cider doughnuts and my mouth starts to salivate as I eye the little plump circles of dough sitting in cinnamon sugar.
“I think I’m feeling something with fall vibes,” I say.
“I’ll get something fun if you do,” he says as he studies the menu. “Oh look, they have your favorite. Pumpkin spice latte.”
“I don’t have anything against pumpkins!” Then I add, acknowledging the added decor in front of Perry, “But you were right, they’re a nice touch.”
“Wow,” he says. “I finally did something right.”
I playfully nudge him with my arm, and even contact as innocent as that with our jackets on is enough to make my pulse flutter. Our eyes meet again, something that’s been happening often since yesterday, and I blush. I am an adult woman, yet here I am, blushing.
Then, as quickly as those feelings rushed through me, I remember that there’s a woman named Kelsey who exists somewhere in the city.
Adam left to see her and didn’t come back until the next day.
I feel a tinge of jealousy, or perhaps even guilt, because there’s definitely something happening here. I don’t know what, but it’s something.
My eyes shoot back to the menu. “I think I’m going to get the nog fog. A unique combo of eggnog tea infused with clover, cardamom, nutmeg, and oolong with your choice of milk and cinnamon, ” I read. “What about you?”
“The hickory smoked s’mores latte,” Adam says. “I’m not turning down the opportunity to try graham cracker milk.”
“I didn’t know you could make milk from graham crackers?”
“I think they just steep it in graham crackers,” he says.
“Well, now you’re just showing off,” I say.
When we receive our orders, we step aside and find a spot underneath a maple tree.
“Moment of truth.” Adam takes a sip of his drink. His eyebrows rise in approval, and he passes me his cup. “Want to try?”
The warmth of his cup feels different from mine, like knowing it belongs to him subconsciously alters my brain chemistry. His eyes follow as I bring the cup to my lips and the taste of espresso comes together with vanilla, dark chocolate, and hazelnut.
“Okay, that’s really good.” I hand his cup back and our fingertips slightly graze each other’s. I pull off a piece of my apple cider doughnut and take a bite, my taste buds going wild with the warm nutmeg and cinnamon goodness. “Oh my God, now try this.”
I pass the remaining piece to Adam, but instead of grabbing it, he lowers his head slightly and takes the pastry from me directly into his mouth.
My breath hitches at the sensation of his tongue swiping my skin and his lips around my fingers. For a moment his eyes lock onto mine, and I swear I stop breathing altogether. He gently pulls back, sucking the remaining sugar until I’m clean.
“Delicious,” he says.
“Mhm.” I swallow what little saliva is left and clear my throat.