Chapter 45
Emma
The girls leave a few hours later. Even a little tipsy, I do my bedtime routine. I remove my makeup, moisturize liberally, and change into my favorite sleep T-shirt, needing the extra comfort it provides. Then, finally, I crawl into bed.
I feel empty without my phone and Sebastian on the other line to fall asleep to. Daisy wouldn’t even let me text Sebastian. I explained I hadn’t heard from him all day, but she said it wouldn’t hurt him to wonder about me, and Olivia and Sadie agreed.
I’m tempted to tear apart my house looking for my phone. It can’t be too hard to find, can it? But then I remember Daisy was the one who hid it. That girl is creative.
Eventually, I fall into a fitful sleep, with unsettling dreams about being on an airplane naked. A flight attendant keeps yelling at me while the other passengers take pictures.
I wake in a cold sweat. At first, I think the dinging sound is from my dream. But then I realize it’s my doorbell.
I stumble out of bed, still disoriented. Faint half-light illuminates my bedroom. It’s not quite dark, not quite dawn.
“Who is it?” I ask when I make it to the door, wishing I’d installed the state-of-the-art security system Sebastian bought me. Is it a reporter? It’s not like I’m famous.
“You didn’t listen to me about security, did you, Em? Or you’d know it’s me.”
“Sebastian!” I yank the door open to find the man I’ve been obsessing over standing in my doorway. “W-what are you doing here?” I adjust my T-shirt self-consciously.
“I’m sorry it’s so early. I was supposed to arrive last night, but my plane had mechanical issues. And then it took forever to arrange for a new plane and crew.” His face looks tired. Tense.
Stepping aside, I gesture for him to come in, still too groggy to process that he’s here, in LA, standing in my new house.
“Is it okay that I came? I know we said three months. But I suck at waiting.” He sounds unsure, anxious, even.
“I-It’s okay.” I try desperately to smooth my bedhead.
His gaze does a slow sweep of my body, from my messy hair to my bare toes, then back again. I shift. Stepping into my living room, he looks around. “This is really nice. You did good, Em.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. “But … what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on set?”
He drops a leather overnight bag next to the couch and reaches out, pulling me into his arms. “I heard about the podcast,” he says simply. “And I couldn’t stay away.”
I nod into his chest, and that’s all it takes.
One hug. I break. All the tension I’ve been holding back crashes through me, and I take a great, gasping sob.
Tears overflow. I’m not crying because of the stupid article and my stupid ex, though.
Not really. It just feels so damn good to be in his arms again.
“Fuck, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop this story from circulating wider. And then I’m going to ruin your ex. When I’m done, he won’t have a tongue to say another word.”
I give a watery laugh. “You’re not cutting out his tongue. That’ll land you back in jail.”
“Worth it. Besides, I’ll be smarter this time. I’ll work with Duncan. He’ll kidnap him. No witnesses.”
“When I first saw the article, it hurt. It hurt a lot,” I admit. “It confirmed my fears. You know those thoughts you have when you can’t sleep at three in the morning? And it wasn’t rational, maybe, but I was worried you might think less of me.”
He pulls away so I can look into his eyes. “Less of you? Are you bananas, woman? I’m the one who’s worried I’m not good enough for you. I mess up constantly—and spectacularly.”
Despite everything, I smile. “I know I’m going to regret saying this. But sometimes your fuck-ups keep things interesting.”
“Yeah?” he asks hopefully.
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“On a scale of one to ten thousand, how upset are you about the story?”
I sigh. “When I first read it, ten thousand and one. But I must be making progress in my quest to not give as many fucks because I’m better now. I know objectively that what assholes on the internet think doesn’t matter.”
“I can help with that. Repeat after me. I, Emma Reynolds, am the most awesome person in the world. Everyone sucks compared to me.”
I giggle. “I’m not saying that.”
He waits.
I sigh. “Fine. I, Emma Reynolds, am awesome.” It feels silly to say it. But also kind of good.
“That’s close enough.” His smile falters. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that article. It’s my fault. It’s my fame that fucks everything up.”
“The second you walked through the door, it felt better. Lighter,” I admit shyly.
“Yeah?” he grins.
“Yeah. And maybe some good came out of it as well.”
He runs a finger through my hair, smoothing the tangled strands. “What’s that?”
“It’s made me rethink some things. Last week, I was asked to do an interview for Her Daily because we landed Evie Adelade as a client.
They emailed me a series of questions. One question was what inspired me to start Dream Space.
I didn’t feel ready to share about my dad’s addiction and Aunt Grace’s hoarding.
But I’ve been thinking all night. This experience showed me I need to come to terms with my background.
I shouldn’t be embarrassed about it. My family’s story might even help people.
There’s nothing shameful about needing help or not being perfect.
” I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly.
“So, yeah. I guess my dick-wad ex helped me.”
His smile is tender. “I’m so damn proud of you, Em. I’m glad you’re finally going to show people all of you. Because all of you is pretty damn amazing.”
I lean up to look at him, brushing back his dark hair from his forehead. “I missed you. I missed talking to you and touching you. I missed everything. We we were only together in Napa for one long weekend. But that doesn’t seem to matter.”
“We were together for a lot longer than that. It’s been over seven years.”
“I stand corrected.” I tilt my head. “I was worried when I couldn’t reach you yesterday. Didn’t the plane have Wi-Fi?”
He looks down ruefully, like a little boy about to be scolded. “Well, I was packing in such a hurry that I forgot my phone charger.”
“Do I need to staple your charger to your ass?” I tease, remembering how I asked him that exact thing several months ago when I woke him in bed. It was before I quit. Before we were together. A lifetime ago.
“Maybe.” He grins. “But I eventually got it charged, and I tried to call. But you didn’t answer.”
“Daisy hid my phone last night after the article came out. It’s somewhere in the house.” I laugh. “She’s as unhinged as you are.” And then I frown. “Isn’t your director going to be pissed that you left the set? You said you were filming the big car chase scene this week.”
He shrugs. “It’s mostly all my stunt double’s work.
And the director is a total romantic. I told her I had to see my girl and promised I’d be back by tomorrow night.
” He takes a step toward me, running a finger down my cheek, tracing the track of a drying tear.
“I know I didn’t have to come. But I needed to.
I’ve been holding back for so long, Em. I’ve been trying to take it slow.
I’ve been trying to give you the three months we agreed on and respect your boundaries and not jump in with both feet, to hell with the consequences, but this situation clarified things for me. ”
“How?” I instinctively lean my face into his palm and close my eyes at the electric feeling of being near him again. Every atom in me vibrates with longing.
When I open my eyes, his gaze pierces me.
“When I heard about the podcast, I didn’t think.
I just hopped on the first plane I could get.
I hated the idea of you listening to it or reading about it without me here to tell you it’s all bullshit.
You need to realize how incredible you are.
And you need to know how I feel about you.
I’ve been so worried about crossing lines I haven’t told you.
Not everything.” His face is determined.
“So, that ends now. I don’t want you to misinterpret what you mean to me.
Ever. To hell with restraint, baby. That’s not the guy I am. ”
“And how do you feel?” I encourage, my heart beating double time.
He hesitates. “Wait. I want this to be special. I thought about doing this in a grand gesture. Like, maybe on Tonight Live. Remember Ryder? He told Daisy how he felt on television, and that was awesome. I mean, go big or go home, right? But then I thought maybe you would hate for me to stand up on a late-night television show and say…” He stops, smiling impishly.
I wait.
He doesn’t elaborate.
Finally, I hit him. “Hear you say what, you monster?” I half-laugh, half-cry.
His slash of a dimple comes out. “First, I want to know if I’m right. Would you hate that? Having me say your name and how I feel on television? Or do you want it? Because I can arrange something quickly and …”
“I hate that kind of public display. It’s mortifying. I pretended that I thought what Ryder did was super romantic. But secretly my cold, dead heart was cringing.”
He lays his hand on my heart. “It’s not cold or dead, baby. It’s beating really fast. And you’re so, so warm, everywhere.”
“Sebastian… focus. What is it that you wanted to tell me? Just say it. Simply. With no cameras.”
His smile unfurls. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. I probably loved you from the first damn moment you told me you loved Landon Takahashi and that I never had a chance.”
I gulp out a laugh. “You always loved a good challenge.”
He watches me, his smile faltering a little. And he suddenly looks nervous. Vulnerable.