29. Grace
29
GRACE
T he coffee shop is quiet when Theo and I sit down together. We’ve been talking about a million things the last few days—life, work, the future—the usual stuff.
I wrap my hands around my mug, the warmth seeping into my skin. My mind is spinning, but I can’t help but notice how comfortable I am with him.
The way we’ve fallen into this rhythm, into this easy balance of ideas, dreams, and shared moments.
I think back to when I first came to Los Angeles, when everything seemed overwhelming and uncertain. I had no idea what I was doing. No idea how hard it would be.
“It’s hard to believe we didn’t get along when you first moved in with me,” Theo chuckles, breaking the silence.
“I can’t believe how much has changed in such a short time.”
He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “You’ve changed a lot, too.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, not sure what he means. “What do you mean?”
He leans in a little, the intensity of his gaze making me blush, but I can tell he’s serious.
“You’re different from when I first met you.
Not that you were bad before, but... you’ve grown.
You’ve found your purpose.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m still figuring things out.
But yeah, I guess I’ve learned a lot about myself these past few months.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
“I think you’re doing something really important, Grace. The shelter—it’s making a difference.”
“I hope so.
I just... I can’t help but think there’s more we could be doing.
More I could be doing.
It’s hard not to feel like I’m leaving people behind, you know?
Like there’s always someone else I could be helping.”
He tilts his head, considering my words.
“You’re helping people. But maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s something else we could do.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about giving back, but it’s always been in a very specific way—working with women, creating a safe space for them, a place to rebuild.
But there’s always been a part of me that wanted to do more.
I want to help people in the industry too, people who are just starting out and coming to LA with big dreams but no safety net.
I take a deep breath, ready to let the idea take shape.
“Theo, I’ve been thinking...
What if we could create something like the shelter, but for artists?
For new actors, models, musicians, and anyone coming to LA with a dream but few resources to back them up?”
What if we had a place where they could come and not have to worry about being taken advantage of or losing everything?”
His eyes light up, and I know I’ve said something that clicks with him.
“A safe space for people trying to break into an industry that doesn’t exactly have the best reputation when it comes to protecting people.”
“Exactly,” I breathe.
“There’s so much focus on the glamour of LA, but no one talks about the price that comes with it.
People come here full of hope, and then they end up alone and broke, just trying to make ends meet.
And it’s not just the actors or the models.
It’s the writers, the musicians, the artists of every kind.
They come to the city, and they get caught up in the same predatory systems that take advantage of their naivety.”
“You want to create a place where they can come, get grounded, get support, and maybe even help them with the logistics of getting started—housing, food, medical care if needed?”
“Exactly.
It’ll be like the shelter but not secluded or off the beaten path.
It’ll be for anyone trying to break into the arts. We’ll offer mentorship, connections, maybe even a college dorm-like atmosphere while they get on their feet.
And it’ll be a safe space. A space where people won’t be exploited. Where they won’t feel like they have to compromise everything just to get ahead.”
He is quiet for a moment, his gaze focused on the window.
“You know,” he says finally, “I can’t think of anything more perfect than that. Helping people in a way that lets them keep their dignity, keep their sense of self, even as they’re fighting to make it.”
“I want to help them avoid the mistakes I made.
When I first came to LA, I was so scared. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t have any family here, and I barely knew anyone.
I took jobs that I knew I shouldn’t have and am just grateful that I got out safely.
I got lucky and found a mentor who helped me.
Someone who looked out for me, guided me through the confusion and the uncertainty.
And because of that, I’m here today, doing what I love. I want to be that person for others.”
“That’s why people love you. You see something in others, something they don’t see in themselves. You help them find it. That’s one of the many reasons that I love you, anyway.”
It’s nice to say something and not worry about how it’ll be received. Theo has always listened and given great feedback.
It’s a nice change.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, leaning back in my chair and looking out the window.
“I mean, I have ideas, but there’s so much to think about. The logistics, the funding, the partnerships.”
“We’ll figure it out.
I can help, and I know a few others who would love to chip in too.
We can start small and build it up.
If anyone can make this happen, it’s you.”
Maybe it’s the confidence I see in him, or perhaps it’s just the way he’s always been there for me—no matter what.
I can’t help but feel like this idea is more than just a dream. It’s something that can happen.
“We could partner with local businesses,” I suggest, the wheels in my mind starting to turn.
“Maybe get some companies on board who would be willing to donate products or offer services in exchange for visibility.
And we could reach out to agencies and other creative groups to see if they’d be willing to provide free mentorship or training.”
“And we could create a fundraising campaign.
Get some high-profile people to back it, raise awareness.
A lot of artists come to LA with nothing, so they might be more willing to help out, knowing they’re supporting others who are in the same situation.”
“Exactly.
And we could have workshops, networking events, maybe even a website where people could sign up to get connected.
Make sure they know they don’t have to do it alone. That they have a community to lean on.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his eyes thoughtful. “I’m in. Whatever you need. I’ll help however I can.”
I smile at him, feeling this deep sense of connection and gratitude. “I couldn’t do this without you, Theo. You’re always there when I need you, no questions asked.”
“Of course.”
I know this is a big step. I know that starting something like this isn’t going to be easy, but I also know that it’s exactly what I need to do.
It’s the next step, not just for me, but for so many others who need a chance, who need a way out.
I take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to make this happen.”
“I know you will,” he says, his smile full of pride. “You always do.”