Chapter 5 Rhea
FIVE
RHEA
Sunday morning.
Back in sneakers, sweats, and my faded Smith College sweatshirt, I board the early flight home. I tuck myself against the window, headphones in, eyes closed.
But I don’t sleep.
Not really.
Not with him still in my head. The smell of him still on my skin.
The way he looked in the early light—bare-chested, limbs tangled in those expensive hotel sheets like he’d been sculpted there. The way he touched me. The way he listened.
The way he made me nearly forget that I’m a girl who plays it safe, stays in control, and minimizes risk.
I’d slipped out of bed and dressed quietly in the next room. Heels in hand, I’d tiptoed back into the borrowed dress with the awkward zipper and padded softly to my room on the fifth floor.
Earlier that morning, I’d arrived in awe of my little luxury suite, but having seen his made mine feel more like a closet.
Pulling out the cocktail napkin, his number scrawled across it like something from a rom-com, I stare at his handwriting. The ink is a bit smudged, but still, I think I can make it out. Was that a seven? No, definitely a one.
New contact. Spencer D.
I look at it for a moment. Start to craft a short, clever message. But in the end, decide against it.
Too soon, I tell myself. Too much. Too out of my league.
Anyway, he has my name. He knows where I work. If he wants to reach out, he will.
When I finally doze off, I don’t notice the flight attendant taking the napkin along with my empty glass.
At home, I’m barely through the front door when my phone rings.
Laney. My lifelong best friend and advisor.
She doesn’t wait for me to say hello.
“Okay,” she demands. “Let’s start at the top, glamour girl. How did it go? How was the awards part of the event?”
She doesn’t ask if I won. She wants to, I know, but this is a softer way to ask the question.
I laugh, my suitcase thudding against the wood floor.
“Well,” I say, toeing off my sneakers. “The food was out of this world, although I had no idea what half of it was. The place was like a castle. The awards ceremony was fine, nice, actually… until I completely humiliated myself on stage by tripping and practically taking out the MC.”
She howls with laughter—but then pauses, catching what I didn’t say out loud.
“Wait. You were on stage?”
“Yes. Your little friend in the Cinderella costume was called up to accept a full grant award on behalf of the Maplewick Library.”
“No shit! You won? You beast! That’s insane. I mean, not surprising, but still. Damn!”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning despite myself. “It was… a moment. I’m excited.”
“Okay, okay—so the shoes were a hazard. What about the rest? Did you look hot? Did you boost the girls up in that little black dress? Pull down a tendril of hair by each ear for drama? Apply the magical red lipstick?”
“Yes, Lane. I followed all of your instructions. And yeah, I think I looked… pretty damn good. Even if I didn’t exactly look like myself.”
She laughs, delighted. “That’s the whole point of a magical disguise.”
Then her voice drops into mock seriousness. “So… did you attract any dangerously charming men?”
I hesitate. Just a second too long.
“You did! Oh my God, you met someone.”
“Well, it depends on what exactly you mean by met…” I say, trying to decide what I’ll leave in and what I’ll leave out. “But I did have a really nice time with someone who’s a fellow book lover and can even quote a little French poetry.”
“No kidding. Must have been nerd heaven. I’m guessing the place was crawling with book lovers.”
I hesitate again.
She hears it instantly.
“Spill, girl. Now. Or I swear I will get in my car and come in there this minute and drag the truth out of you.”
“Okay, fine.” I flop down on the couch. “He was charming. And gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that makes you immediately suspicious. But he was also—well—kind.”
“You are sounding suspiciously glowy, now. Did you sleep with this gorgeous, charming man?
Before I can figure out a response, she’s gone on.
“You did. Oh, my God” She’s laughing.
“My little black dress got my ‘don’t-need-no-man-to-be-happy’ librarian friend laid in our nation’s capital. Holy hell!”
“Laney—”
“I mean... even Cinderella didn’t get to sleep with Prince Charming at the ball.”
I don’t respond. I’m suddenly thinking of him, of us.
“So— keep going.”
“It was nice. That’s it. A girl can have a bit of fun every now and then, right?”
“Of course. So, you’re saying I just have to wait until Prince Charming comes around with the glass slipper to learn more?”
“Nobody’s coming around. It wasn’t like that. And besides, don’t forget the real news here: I got the damned grant! This means everything to me. It means I can leave a small footprint in Maplewick when I finally go to France in the fall. It means access and...”
At the mention of fall, her voice softens.
“You’re right. And I’m really proud of you. I mean it. I don’t mean to minimize that.”
“I know.” I reassure her.
A beat. Then—
“Even though I can’t stand the thought of fall. And you leaving,” she says, her energy draining.
There’s a sharp wail in the background, followed by a crashing sound and what amounts to a toddler war cry.
“Oh shit,” Laney mutters. “I’ve gotta go play referee. Congratulations, girlfriend.”
“Thanks, Lane.”
And then, “But don’t think I’m not coming back for details about your little romp in the hay with you-know-who…”
“Noted,” I say, smiling as the line goes dead.