Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Tom
I’ve been replaying last night on a loop.
The first kiss. The second kiss. The way she looked at me when she said, Then maybe you should stop talking and do it again.
The sudden, desperate weight of her hands twisting in the front of my shirt.
The fact that we just made the next four weeks incredibly complicated, and I can’t seem to care.
My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter, rattling against the ceramic.
Wren.
I smile, picking it up. Outside my window, the early morning sun is just hitting the fire escape across the alley. At least Wren didn't interrupt the actual kiss this time.
"Hey," I say, leaning against the counter next to my cooling coffee.
"So when are you leaving for Dubai?" she asks, skipping the hello entirely.
I blink, the warm, quiet Sam-bubble I've been floating in abruptly popping. "What?"
"Dubai. The shoot. Your agent sent me the dates last month because you never update your own calendar. When do you leave?"
My eyes land on a pale blue sticky note stuck to the corner of my laptop.
Sam left it during our last-minute presentation prep yesterday.
Her handwriting is precise, perfectly spaced.
I rub my thumb over the edge of the paper, anchoring myself to it.
The pale blue, I've learned, means "time-sensitive but not urgent. "
"Oh. Right," I say. "I turned that down."
Silence on the other end of the line. A long one.
"You turned it down."
"Yeah."
"Fifty-five thousand dollars. Three weeks in Dubai."
"Yeah."
Another pause. When Wren speaks again, her voice has shifted. It's warmer. A little smug. "Good for you, Tommy."
I exhale. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I can practically hear the smile stretching across her face. "I'm proud of you."
"It was a dream job," I say quietly. I don't know why I'm defending a decision I don’t regret.
"And you chose to turn it down anyway," she says. "She got to you, didn't she?"
The corner of my mouth pulls up. "Who?"
"Don't play dumb. Sam. The architect who color-codes her life and somehow convinced you that staying in one place isn't a trap."
A helpless laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Yeah. She got to me."
"Good. You needed someone to get to you." Her tone shifts, dropping into that familiar, teasing rhythm. "So when's the wedding? Should I start shopping for a hat?"
"Wren—"
"I'm kidding. Mostly." The teasing drops away. She’s serious now. "But seriously, Tommy, this is usually the exact moment you bolt. So what are you worried about?"
My smile fades. I look at the sticky note again, then out the window at the morning light. "Nothing. Really. It's… it's good."
"You're lying."
I drag a hand down my face. "I'm not lying. I'm just…" I trail off.
"Scared," Wren finishes for me.
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Of what?"
I hesitate. I could deflect, but it's Wren. She'll just dig her heels in and drag it out of me anyway. "I don't have an exit plan anymore."
"Because you turned down Dubai?"
"Because I turned down Dubai, and because I actually want to be here." I pace a few steps toward the living room, running a hand through my hair. "My relationship with Sam is both professional and personal now. I'm used to having a safety net. I'm used to being able to leave when things get messy."
"And?"
"And now I can't. If I screw this up—if I panic and pull back the way I usually do—the consequences are everywhere.
I can't just disappear from the personal side and keep the work clean.
It's all tangled together. I'm terrified I'm going to ruin the project, prove I'm not built for staying, and hurt her in the process. "
Silence.
When she finally speaks, her voice is steady. "You kissed her."
It's not a question.
I close my eyes. "How did you—"
"Because I know you. And you sound different." Her voice softens, losing its edge. "You kissed her, and now you're terrified because there is no turning back."
"Yeah."
"Good. Be terrified. But don't run." She drops into her tough-love voice, the one that means absolutely zero argument.
"You've spent your whole life pulling back the second things get real.
Don't do it this time. If you're scared, you tell her.
Not me. You stay in the room and you say, 'I'm scared. ' That's the new pattern."
I nod, staring blindly at the floorboards. "I know."
"Do you?"
"I'm trying."
"Try harder." She pauses. Her voice shifts back to business. "She's good for you, Tommy. Don't let your fear ruin this."
"I wo—"
Before I can finish the word, a text notification drops down from the top of my screen.
Sam
Can we talk?
My stomach drops straight to the floor. I pull the phone away to look at the screen, then press it back to my ear. "Wren. Have you been texting Sam on the side?"
"What?" She sounds genuinely confused. "No. About what?"
"About the fact that we should talk."
"Why would I text her that?"
"Because she just texted me 'Can we talk.'"
There's a beat of silence on the line. Then Wren's voice shifts—deeply smug, deeply affectionate, and completely done with me. "Perfect. Go talk to her before you lose your nerve."
"Wren, wait—" I pull the phone away from my ear, tapping quickly with my thumb.
Sure. You want to meet at the Donut?
Not the Donut. Too public. Your place?
I put the phone back to my ear. "She wants to come here."
"Then talk. Be honest. Don't disappear."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Wren exhales. "Okay. Good. Now go clean your apartment before she gets there. I know you. You've been stress-spiraling, and your place probably looks like a tornado hit it."
I look around the living room. Camera gear covers the dining table.
Three empty mugs sit on the coffee table.
But worse than the mess is the transience.
The walls are completely bare. The moving boxes in the corner are still unpacked.
It looks exactly like the apartment of a guy who always has one foot out the door.
"I hate that you know me so well.”
"Love you, Tommy."
"Love you too."
She hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hand. The screen is still open to Sam's message. I let out a breath and type back.
Yeah. Just trying to decide how much time I need to ask you to wait so I can clean up.
The three dots appear immediately.
How about an hour? Can I bring coffee?
An hour. I can work with an hour. I glance toward the bathroom. At minimum, I need to scrub the sink.
I have coffee. Just bring yourself.
See you soon.
I set the phone down next to the laptop. Image sequencing finalized, the pale blue sticky note reads. You were right about the dawn shot. –S
I have sixty minutes to make this place look like an adult lives here. And to figure out exactly what I'm going to say when she walks through the door.
Stay in the room, Wren’s voice echoes in my head. Say 'I'm scared.'
I pick up an empty coffee cup, then grab a second one by the handle. Yeah. I can do that.
I hope.
Fifty-eight minutes later, I hear three soft knocks.
I wipe my palms on my jeans and cross to the door.
Sam is holding two coffees. She said she wouldn't bring coffee. But she's standing in my hallway with two paper cups anyway.
She's nervous.
That's not a good sign.