Chapter 10
April
Istep into the motel bathroom, close the door behind me, and turn on the shower so the water can heat up—and so Max can’t hear me panic-texting my sisters.
Obviously, this is a group chat emergency. I drop the lid on the toilet, sit down, and pull out my phone.
ME
interview got pushed to Friday
we made it to a hotel
middle of nowhere, Texas
and… there’s only one room
with two queen beds
and Sheryl at the desk thinks we’re married
It takes them exactly four seconds to respond.
MAY
MARRIED??
AS IN VOWS??
DID YOU AT LEAST GET A RINGPOP???
JUNE
WHO CARES
TWO BEDS = TWO OPTIONS
MAY
is he single tho???
ME
I… don’t know
JUNE
GIRL
MAY
APRIL.
JUNE
you’re sharing a room with a man
and you didn’t think to ask if he has a girlfriend
or a FIANCéE
or like, a whole wife and three kids??
ME
I panicked okay??
he was nice and calm and hot and I was just trying to make it to LA
I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of… like… a baby seat in the back
MAY
you’ve got to ask. Immediately!
before it turns into one of those documentaries we like to binge-watch.
JUNE
“The photographer and the secret family”
episode 1: the layover
I groan, toss my phone onto the bathroom counter, and step out of my leggings. This was supposed to be a chill shower. Reset. Rinse and regroup.
Instead, I’m spiraling about the very real possibility that the man thirty feet away from me is not available, and I’ve just wandered into a very attractive, very stupid mess.
What if he does have a girlfriend?
Or worse—a wife?
Kids?
What if I’m just the sad little road trip anecdote he tells his friends about one day.
“That time I picked up a girl in an airport and forgot to mention I had a whole family waiting at home.”
God. I’m so dumb.
I didn’t think this through at all.
He doesn’t seem like the type. But what does that even mean? Cheaters don’t walk around with labels on their foreheads. I’ve seen enough TikToks to know that.
I step into the shower and let the hot water hit my face, trying to drown the anxiety before it takes over.
Ask him. Just ask.
Even if the answer wrecks the whole road-trip fantasy, even if it makes things awkward, I have to know.
I towel off and change into my sleep shorts and oversized tee, then massage a little moisturizer onto my face before tossing my damp hair up into a bun. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and walk back into the room.
Max is sitting on the edge of the bed by the window, typing something on his phone, then looks up and does a double-take before smoothing his features into that now familiar, unbothered Max expression.
I cross to my bed, drop my bag onto the end of it, and finally speak.
“Hey… can I ask you something?”
He sets his phone down and nods.
“Of course.”
I meet his eyes.
“Are you in a relationship?”
The silence hangs there between us, and my heart is pounding.
I was fine. I was handling it.
One motel room, two beds, a woman I am definitely, absolutely not catching feelings for, and then she walked out of the bathroom in sleep shorts and a T-shirt that’s probably ten years old and softer than sin, and I forgot how breathing works.
She doesn’t even realize how devastating she looks, which makes it so much harder. Hair up, skin flushed from the shower. No makeup, no filter, just her.
And her eyes fix on me, wide and unguarded, the kind of look someone wears when they’re standing on the edge of a question that could change everything. She walks to her bed, not making eye contact, and for half a second, I let myself think she’s going to say something like What time should we leave tomorrow, or Do you want the window side?
Then she turns and says.
“Hey… can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She meets my eyes, unblinking.
“Are you in a relationship?”
The world stills, like it’s holding its breath waiting for the answer. She’s probably been thinking about this for hours, maybe all day, maybe since the airport.
And she doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know this version of me—the one here in this motel room, letting his assistant cancel meetings and texting Nico like a middle schooler with a crush—hasn’t existed for anyone else in a long time.
“No, I’m not.”
Her shoulders drop the tiniest bit, so I keep going.
“No girlfriend. No wife. No one is waiting for me to come home.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but the tension in her brow eases even as her mouth tightens. Relief flickers there, tangled with irritation that she had to ask at all.
“I should’ve asked earlier,”
she murmurs, half to herself.
“You didn’t owe me that,”
I mutter.
“But I get it.”
She nods, then picks at a thread on the comforter.
“Sorry. It’s just… I’ve been in too many situations where I didn’t ask the right questions until it was too late.”
I nod because same, but I lean forward a little, resting my elbows on my knees.
“You’re not the only one who’s been burned, April.”
She glances up at me, eyes soft and a little tired. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I echo.
In that moment, something like it feels like an agreement between old friends.
Just the truth.
Just us.
Just... whatever this is becoming.