Chapter 11 Calling From 1997
MARI
If someone had told me at the beginning of all of this that I’d be sitting in a five-star spa resort with an A-list director, her celebrity friends, and a bachelorette weekend itinerary that I’d planned with Hudson Gable—and that I’d be missing him—I would have laughed in their face.
Yet there I was, sipping champagne in a fluffy white robe, watching Lia and her friends get pedicures, and wondering what Hudson was doing at the fishing cabin with Manny and his groomsmen.
Was Hudson even a fishing person? Did he own casual clothes? Or had he shown up to the wilderness retreat in a three-piece suit with color-coded tackle boxes and a laminated schedule for the best fishing locations?
The mental image made me snort into my champagne.
“What’s so funny?” Lia asked, looking up from her phone where she was texting Manny for approximately the fiftieth time since we’d arrived six hours ago.
“Nothing, just thinking about something.”
“Someone, you mean. How’s Hudson doing at the cabin?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“How would I know?” I tried for casual indifference but probably landed somewhere closer to ‘teenager pretending not to care about her crush.’
“Because you’ve checked your phone more than Lia has in the last hour.” Lia’s best friend, Michaela, a makeup artist to the stars with an encyclopedic knowledge of everyone’s business, chimed in. “We’ve been counting.”
“I have not—” I started, then realized I was, in fact, checking my phone again at that very moment. “It’s for work,” I said, shrugging.
“Sure it is, honey.” Michaela patted my hand. “It’s absolutely normal to smile like that at work emails.”
I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was literally in my hand: a text from Hudson with a picture of himself holding up what appeared to be a fish approximately the size of my thumb, looking absurdly proud.
First catch. Manny claims it doesn’t count. Opinions?
“It’s a very amusing work situation,” I said, locking my phone and slipping it into my robe pocket.
“Right,” Lia drawled, exchanging glances with Michaela. “A work situation with the guy you’ve been making heart eyes at for months.”
“I do not make heart eyes at Gable.” I took an indignant sip of champagne. “At most, I make grudgingly-respectful-colleague eyes.”
“That sounds like denial.” Lia’s sister joined the conversation.
My face heated. “It’s not!”
“Totally is,” Michaela added.
“Is this why you invited me?,” I asked Lia with a raised eyebrow.
Lia laughed, then winced as the pedicurist hit a ticklish spot. “Maybe. You two remind me of Manny and me when we first met. All that tension barely disguising the fact that we wanted to jump each other’s bones.”
“That’s—I don’t—we’re not—” I sputtered, causing all three women to burst into laughter.
“She’s broken,” the sister declared. “Quick, someone refill her champagne.”
My phone buzzed again, and despite my best intentions, I pulled it out immediately. Another text from Hudson.
Update: Caught a “real” fish. Manny’s still unimpressed. The wilderness is harsh and unforgiving.
Attached was a picture of a slightly larger but still unimpressive fish, with Manny visible in the background, clearly laughing his ass off.
I couldn’t help smiling as I typed back.
Tragic. Your fragile masculinity may never recover.
“And there’s that smile again. You know, it’s okay to admit you like him.” Lia finished her champagne, and one of the workers refilled it almost immediately.
I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine. He’s not entirely awful. Sometimes. On rare occasions. When the stars align.”
“Wow, such passion,” Michaela deadpanned. “Try not to overwhelm us with your enthusiasm.”
“What Michaela means,” Lia said, shooting her friend a look, “is that life’s too short to play games. If you like him, tell him.”
“We have a date next week,” I admitted, immediately regretting it when all three women squealed loud enough to make the pedicurists jump.
“A real date? Like, romantic dinner, possible goodnight kiss, not-talking-about-work date?” Lia’s sister pressed.
“As opposed to what? A fake date?”
“As opposed to one of those not-dates that you convince yourself is just a colleague thing,” Lia clarified. “Where you talk about work the whole time and pretend you’re not checking out each other’s asses when the other isn’t looking.”
“I do not check out Hudson’s ass,” I lied, because I absolutely did. The man wore tailored pants as if they were invented specifically for him.
All three women gave me identical looks of disbelief.
“Fine!” I threw up my hands. “Yes, it’s an actual date. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Lia said, beaming. “It’s about time. Manny and I have had our bets going since we hired you two.”
“First of all, rude. And second, it’s just dinner,” I protested. “Don’t start planning our wedding yet.”
“Honey, that’s literally your job,” Michaela pointed out.
I rolled my eyes and drained my champagne, pointedly ignoring their knowing smiles. But as the conversation moved on to the latest Hollywood gossip, I considered the date. I thought about Hudson’s smile when I’d said yes. About the way he’d held me during our dance research.
It was terrifying how much I was looking forward to it.
Later that evening, after dinner and several rounds of increasingly raunchy bachelorette games that had even made me blush (and I once accidentally walked in on Anica and Callan doing things I still couldn’t unsee on her desk), I escaped to the resort’s outdoor lounge area.
Most of the other guests had gone to bed, leaving the fire pit area deserted.
I settled into a comfortable chair, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders against the chilly night air. The fire crackled, and stars twinkled overhead in the clear night sky. It was peaceful. Romantic even, if I had someone to share it with.
And there my mind went, straight to Hudson again. Pathetic.
Anica would’ve given me so much shit if she were here. Devonna too. But especially Anica, since I’d been an absolute menace when she and Callan had been dancing around their feelings for each other.
Since I was alone and already feeling pathetic, I pulled out my tablet and opened the files for my app project.
I’d been meaning to update some wireframes based on Hudson’s suggestions from that night in the office, before we’d gotten.
.. distracted, and then life had gotten busy with the Kussikov-Martin wedding and several other client weddings.
As I worked, adding features and refining the design, I realized something that made me pause: I was creating spaces for a partner in the workflow.
Not just any partner; a partner with Hudson’s specific skills.
Here, a section for vendor contract management that played to his attention to detail.
There, a budget tracking system that would benefit from his analytical approach.
Even the color scheme had shifted to incorporate some of the more subdued tones he favored alongside my brighter palette.
Holy shit. I wasn’t just designing an app. I was designing a future where Hudson and I worked together. Where our strengths complemented each other. Where we were partners in more ways than one.
“Oh, this is bad,” I muttered to myself, staring at the evidence of my feelings laid out in wireframes and mockups. “This is very, very bad.”
My phone rang, making me jump. Hudson’s name flashed on the screen, as if my treacherous thoughts had summoned him.
“Are you psychic now?” I answered instead of hello.
“If I were psychic, I’d be better at fishing because I’d know where all the little shits were,” he replied. The line was staticky. “Cell reception is spotty out here. Can you hear me okay?”
“Barely. You sound like you’re calling from 1997.”
“That’s actually an improvement. Earlier I couldn’t get a signal at all.” There was a pause filled with crackling static. “What are you doing up so late? I thought spa weekends were all about beauty sleep.”
“If you thought I’d be asleep, why the hell did you call me?”
“Who knows? Maybe the wilderness is getting to me. You didn’t answer my question. Why are you still up?”
“Turns out I’m allergic to relaxation,” I said, curling deeper into my blanket. “Too many facials and massages make me angsty.”
He laughed, and the sound warmed me more than the fire. “The horror. How will you survive?”
“Alcohol helps.” I glanced at my abandoned champagne flute. “How’s the great outdoors treating you? Caught anything bigger than my pinky finger yet?”
“I’ll have you know I caught a very respectable bass this afternoon,” he said with mock indignation. “Manny was just being difficult.”
“Mmm-hmm. I saw the photographic evidence. Very impressive. I’m sure it fed at least half a person.”
“Just for that, I’m not saving you any fish for dinner when you get back.”
“My heart breaks,” I deadpanned. “How will I go on?”
“You’ll manage.”
“Will I?”
“I hope so. It’d be a shame to go on a date by myself. Oh, and hey, guess what I brought for the campfires?”
“Raspberries?”
“They guys thought they were genius. Best s’mores of their lives, apparently.” The amusement in his voice was clear even through the static. “How’s Lia doing? Not too overwhelmed with wedding stress?”
“She’s good. Currently fast asleep after approximately seven mojitos and a game called ‘Pin the Junk on the Hunk’ that I’m fairly certain will remain seared into my mind for years to come.
Did you know that a fourth of the male celebrities she’s worked with are uncircumcised?
I didn’t realize it was that common. I’ve seen more dick in the last twenty-four hours than I did that one time I accidentally got a virus on my first computer. ”
“Gross.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled, leaning back my head and closing my eyes. “How’s the guys’ weekend?”
“There’s significantly less dick.”
“Probably a good thing.”
“Definitely a good thing. Our evening consisted of cigars, whiskey, and Manny telling stories about the time he worked as a dishwasher for Gordon Ramsay.”
“Who’s having more fun, do you think?”
“Hard to say. Though I will admit something I probably shouldn’t.”
“You secretly want to come to the dick fest?”
“I missed seeing you today,” he said quietly, ignoring my teasing.
Oh.
My heart did a stupid little flip in my chest, and I silently cursed it for being so easily affected. Play it cool, Landry. Don’t be weird.
“I missed you too,” I blurted out, then immediately wanted to punch myself in the face. So much for playing it cool. “I mean, well, that. I missed you.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
A comfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the crackling of both the fire in front of me and the static on the line. I grinned at nothing, just happy to be talking to him.
Oh god. I had it bad.
“I’m looking forward to our date,” I said before I could overthink it.
“Me too,” he replied, and even through the static, I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve already made reservations. And secondary reservations in case something goes wrong with the first ones.”
“Of course you have. Let me guess—you’ve also mapped the most efficient route from the office to the restaurant, factoring in typical traffic patterns for that time of day?”
“Not yet, but thanks for the reminder.”
I laughed, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“If you say so.” There was another burst of static, and his voice cut out momentarily. “—losing signal. Might have to—”
“You’re breaking up,” I said, straightening in my chair. “Hudson?”
“—call tomorrow—” More static. “—good night, Landry.”
“Good night,” I said, but the line had already gone dead.
I stared at my phone for a moment, feeling depressed. It was stupid to miss someone I’d just talked to, someone I’d see again in two days. Yet there I was, already looking forward to his next text, his next call, our upcoming date.
“Well, shit,” I muttered to the empty fire pit area. “I’m falling in love with Hudson Gable.”