Chapter Twenty-Six
JAYCE
Jayce plumped his pillow then flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d never had an issue sleeping on Evan’s couch before, but tonight, he couldn’t get his brain to switch off. He’d almost kissed his best friend, a move that would have been simultaneously glorious and disastrous.
Since the start of their fake engagement charade, he’d found himself riding a bullet train of bad ideas.
On some level, he knew he needed to keep his feelings in check for CeCe’s sake as well as his own.
If he crossed the friendship line and things didn’t work out, he’d never forgive himself.
And yet, on a level becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore, he wanted to throw every caution to the wind and give a relationship with CeCe his best shot.
What if they could succeed where others hadn’t?
Restless, he flipped onto his side, gazing into the murky shadows of Evan’s sitting room slash kitchenette.
A dim glow from the porch light filtered through the bamboo shades covering the front window, illuminating faint outlines.
The surfboard leaning against the wall. A stack of boxes containing jars of Evan’s Epic Rash Balm that he sold online.
Nadia’s fancy copper pot with a built-in strainer sat on the stove.
She’d used it to make him some masala chai when he first arrived.
There was something nice, almost comforting, about the way Evan’s and Nadia’s lives blended together, the way they easily shared so many parts of themselves.
He wouldn’t be surprised if his friend proposed soon.
Did Evan ever have reservations about their future?
Doubtful. What would it be like to experience that degree of blind assurance? Was it brave? Or foolish?
Jayce rolled onto his back, once again staring up at the ceiling. He’d better figure out the answer to that question before Friday, otherwise his script was doomed. No producer wanted to invest in a project without an ending.
A tiny stab of guilt pricked his heart for giving CeCe the script without a warning about the missing pages.
But he needed her honest, gut-level reaction.
He hoped that by the time she reached the blank page, she’d know exactly how she wanted the story to end.
And maybe her thoughts would give him some guidance, pertaining to the script and real life.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself the pleasant memory of her perfect lips—their seductive bow shape, the tempting freckle that reminded him of a cake crumb. He imagined she tasted like coconut, cinnamon, and brown sugar.
She’d given him permission to kiss her, which had momentarily thrilled him. But she’d been under duress, panicked by the pressure from the paparazzi. Not exactly a recipe for romance. But what if he’d indulged anyway? What would it feel like to finally—
A soft tap at the door dragged him away from the tempting thought.
He squinted in the dim light. It had to be close to 2:00 a.m. Who would be knocking at this time of night? Maybe he’d hallucinated the sound.
Another gentle rap debunked that theory.
He kicked off the lightweight blanket and trudged to the door.
To his surprise, CeCe stood on the other side.
Her eyes widened, traveling from his bare chest to his baggy basketball shorts hanging low on his hips, then back to his chest.
He couldn’t be certain in the amber-tinted glow of the porch light, but she almost looked flushed. “Toto, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not.” She tore her attention from his naked torso to meet his gaze. “How could you do this to me?” she hissed, waving his script in his face. “There’s no ending, Jayce. No ending!”
“You read it already?” He’d expected her to wait until tomorrow.
“Of course I did! I’ve been waiting my whole life to read your first screenplay.
And it’s brilliant, by the way.” Her adorable, indignant whisper contrasted comically with her compliment.
Plus, he found it endearing that even in her outrage, she didn’t want to disturb Evan asleep in the other room. Could she be any cuter?
Jayce couldn’t help a smile. “Thanks. What did you like about it?”
“Uh-uh. No way. You don’t get any more praise until you give me the missing pages.” She shoved the script against his chest, and the fleeting sensation of her fingertips against his bare skin sent a shock wave through his body.
The brief contact seemed to catch her off guard, too. She snapped her hands back and rubbed her palms down her thighs—shapely thighs clad in tiny cotton shorts. Jayce swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat.
“Un-unless,” she stammered, averting her gaze. “The lack of ending was some artistic choice. And, in that case, may I implore you to rethink your decision? I—I mean, the audience ,” she corrected, “needs an ending.”
“You’re right. What do you think the ending should be?’
“Me?” She balked. “I—I don’t know. You’re the writer.”
“And you’re my best friend. I want your opinion.
Do you think Chloe should choose love?” The second he asked her the question, an uncontrollable desperation clawed its way up his chest, like a caged animal unleashed.
He wanted CeCe more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
How could he continue to fight his feelings for her?
It was too exhausting, too daunting. He silently begged her to say, Choose love , as if her words would somehow give him permission to risk a lifetime of friendship for a statistical shot in the dark.
A shot in the dark he suddenly yearned to take.
He instinctively moved toward her, spanning the distance between them.
She inched backward, pinned against the doorjamb.
Compelled beyond rational thought, he bridged the gap until they stood toe to toe. “What should she choose?” he repeated in a raspy murmur, fighting for self-control.
She tilted her head to look up at him, light reflecting off her lenses.
He’d always loved her glasses, the alluring way they framed her beautiful eyes. But tonight, they felt like a barrier between them. His fingers itched to lift them from her face, but he didn’t get the chance.
“I wish I knew,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.
Her disheartened tone snapped reality back into focus. He’d let his emotions push him too far across the line. He needed distance. Two a.m. wasn’t the time to make life-altering decisions.
“Me, too.” He backed away. “I’ll figure it out before Friday, though. Maybe I’ll have her wake up and realize it was all a dream.” He attempted a rueful grin.
“Keep workshopping that idea.” She met his grin with a shaky smile. “Whatever you decide, I look forward to reading it.” After an awkward pause, followed by a clumsily exchanged goodbye, she slipped outside, quietly shutting the door behind her.
Great . He’d made her uncomfortable. Or at the very least, confused by his odd behavior. He couldn’t keep doing this, pushing the boundaries, cutting it too close.
After the award ceremony on Friday, when Stacey and Rob jet off to Italy to elope, he’d call it quits. They’d announce their breakup, and he’d take a vacation somewhere far, far away.
All he had to do was make it through the rest of the week without doing something rash, then things could return to normal. He’d lasted this long without kissing her. What were a few more days?
“You should’ve kissed her.” The groggy voice broke through his resolved reverie.
He turned to find Evan in the doorway of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes.
“Sorry.” His friend flashed a sleepy, sheepish grin. “I heard voices and caught the tail end of your conversation.”
Fantastic. Just what he needed. “It’s not what you think.”
“I think you need to work on your acting skills. Even in the dark, I can see you’re a lost cause.” Evan sank onto a creaking rattan chair and kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “Why don’t you man up and tell CeCe how you feel?”
“It’s not that simple.” Jayce collapsed onto the couch, too tired to maintain his denial.
“Who said anything about simple? Tell me, how many things in life that are actually worth doing are ever simple ?”
Huh. Maybe Evan had a point. “Okay,” he countered, verbally processing his muddled thoughts, “let’s say I tell CeCe how I feel.
And let’s extend our imagination even further and pretend she reciprocates.
Then what? We date, maybe get married, have a few kids.
Then, one day, we wake up and realize we’ve drifted apart.
We’re different people, we want different things.
If we’re lucky, love fizzles to indifference.
And if we’re un lucky, it’s worse. We wind up like—”
“Your parents?” Evan interjected gently.
Jayce winced. His friend could read him too well. “Sure. They’re a prime example of friends-to-lovers-to-foes. And so is nearly every other couple I know.”
“Okay,” Evan conceded. “But nearly every couple you know is in Hollywood, which is its own microcosm of dysfunction. Their divorce rate is significantly higher than the general population.”
“True, but the general divorce rate isn’t exactly low, either.” Jayce threw his head back against the couch cushions, the pressure between his temples building. He couldn’t think straight.
“You’re right,” Evan admitted, “and that stinks. But you have to stop viewing yourself as one of the statistics, as if the outcome is inevitable.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“Of course it isn’t. You have a choice, Jayce.
A choice to love CeCe with a fire that burns beyond the initial flame of infatuation.
You can choose patience, forgiveness, grace, and perseverance.
You can choose to see the good in her, day after day, long after the first rush of excitement fades.
You can continue to be her best friend and her biggest supporter, to honor your commitment to stand by her, no matter what.
That’s on you, with God’s help. And then you gotta trust Him for the rest.”
Evan’s words seeped into his bones, reshaping beliefs he’d long considered unshakable. As he stared up at the ceiling fan, watching it rotate round and round, his mind spun back to the past, transporting him to his childhood living room and the moment his family ripped apart.
“Your father and I are getting a divorce.” His mother’s voice still rang clear, cold, and unyielding.
“It’s not anyone’s fault,” his father had chimed in, three feet away from his soon-to-be ex-wife on the couch while Jayce sat in the middle. “But sometimes, things change.”
Jayce had noticed the change months before.
They’d started snapping at each other more often, then the spats escalated into full-blown fights.
They’d stopped laughing together, holding hands or even touching each other at all.
The increased time apart and abandoned date nights soon devolved into separate bedrooms. He’d finally understood the expression passing like two ships in the night .
Except, his parents were battleships that never passed each other without exploiting the opportunity to lob a missile.
When he’d asked them why, they’d exchanged a strained glance.
“Sometimes,” his father had said with a pained expression, “love, no matter how strong it starts out, simply doesn’t last.”
It wasn’t until that moment that his mother’s stoic facade faltered. She’d blinked back tears, pretending they didn’t exist while they insisted that their love for him would always remain the same.
But by then, their words carried little assurance.
In his young eyes, love had been reduced to a fleeting feeling with an unknown yet inevitable expiration date—a life lesson supported by countless other couples over the years.
But Evan’s words that night chipped away at the scab around his heart, giving him hope.
And he finally knew exactly how he wanted his story to end.