Chapter 59 Los Angeles
Despite the naked man I saw crouched in the giant bushes outside my complex this morning (I emailed the HOA), my first week back in LA has been chaotic in the dreamiest way.
I’ve been able to meet with my mom about wedding prep in person over dinner.
I went to a movie with Whitney. I went shopping for more apartment things with my Aunt Teresa on Sunday during her day off. It’s been . . . nice. Cozy even.
Jordyn and I have been talking every day via text or phone call when she’s heading to bed and I’m heading home from work. I miss her, but so far I think we’re rocking the long-distance friendship thing.
Everything with Love Today thus far has been challenging and overwhelming but wonderful.
I love the work, and I love the people I’m working with.
They’ve been kind, helpful, and encouraging, and it’s made the transition into this job feel so right.
When I walk into that writers’ room every morning, I’m part of something that’s bigger than me, and it fills me with a sense of purpose I’ve found hard to come by, working on projects alone.
LA itself already feels like mine. Muscle memory kicked in, and I’ve slipped back into its rhythm.
But the apartment is finally starting to look like mine.
I had Jordyn ship out a box of my books and the things I hang on the walls after I left last week.
There’s a bookshelf in my new bedroom. (Three shelves drilled over a desk.) It’s hard to articulate how big of a difference it makes to be able to look over at those shelves and see my favorite books. They make this place feel like home.
Tonight I get to see Reed, and I don’t know what to think.
Should I still be upset with him for not responding to me for fourteen days? For leaving me hanging at the airport? For having the same secret plan that I had?
It’s been three weeks.
I am upset with him. But I’ve also been looking forward to this for the last six days with every jostled, confused, lovesick piece of my heart.
I don’t know how I should feel, but what I do feel is ravenous.
For his presence. His laugh. His understanding.
His jokes. His empathy. His compliments.
His curiosity. Passion. Conversation. Wit.
Warmth. Mouth. Body. Strength. Unpredictability.
His quirks. Emotional depth. Proactive nature.
His energy. How observant he is. How playful he is.
I could keep going. Reed scratches so many itches.
The email said formal wear.
I found a blood-red gown. It’s corseted with pointed edges at the top left and right.
It cinches in a downward V as it approaches my hips and flows out to a full skirt with a slit over my right leg.
It’s covered in lines of red beading, so it glitters in the light.
I’m wearing a matching blood-red beaded choker and gloves that go up to my biceps.
I debate fifty different hairstyles, only to eventually land on curling it and leaving it down.
The apartment’s clean. My mind is open.
It’s 6:30 p.m. on the dot when there’s a knock at my door.
I suck in a steadying breath and pull it open.
Reed’s in a full black tux. His auburn hair is a smidgen longer, carefully tousled back. There’s a light layer of stubble on his face. His gaze drops as he takes in my outfit.
“Ho-ly shit.”
“You said wear clothes.”
He meets my eyes, mouth slanted up the side of his cheek.
“You went above and beyond there.” We stare at each other for a beat, scanning, inspecting, analyzing for any subtle changes since the last time we were together in person.
There’s something a little different about him tonight.
More guarded. There’s a protective edge of mischief carved into his expression.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“You ready?”
I nod, sliding my new beaded, red purse off the marble countertop. I pluck my keys from their hook and pull the door shut behind me.
“So, you broke up with me.” I shoot a smirk in his direction before bolting the door.
Reed smirks back, offering the crook of his elbow. “Broke up is a strong word.”
I loop my arm through his. “You sent the phrase.”
“And you apologized.”
My heels clack along the tiled hallway. “You ignored it for thirteen days.”
“But then I didn’t.”
We make our way down the stairs. “You wrote a chapter.”
“Still a response.”
“It was a great chapter,” I concede.
A warm rumble vibrates through him. “Thank you.”
“You blew me off at the airport.” We stride out from the building and into the night.
He purses his lips. “Does catching your eye while boarding a flight qualify as blowing you off?”
“I felt blown.”
He smothers a laugh. “You caught me off guard, Renee. I was heading out to a job.”
I sigh as he drops a hand against the small of my back, directing me toward a black SUV. “What are we doing, Reed?”
“We’re going to the Elizabeth Ross premiere.”
I shoot him a grin. “That was one of my theories, considering the release date’s a week out.” He opens the door to the SUV, and I step in. “But it’s not what I meant.”
Inside there are two benches situated across from each other about two feet apart and closed off from the driver like a carriage from the 1800s. I wait for Reed to situate himself on one and then I situate myself across from him on the other.
“Your hair’s longer,” he comments.
“That’s what happens to hair. Your eyes are still scary blue.”
“That’s what happens to eyes.”
He tilts his head, studying me.
“So what’s this new job?”
“Supporting role in a new John Krasinski film shooting in New York.”
I lean forward, a gush of enthusiasm lurching through me. “Whoa, congrats, Reed.”
He bobs his head to the side. “Thanks. What’s yours?”
I purse my lips. “Hold up, you deflected my original question.”
He cocks a brow.
“Are you dating anyone right now?” I ask.
“Do you count?”
“No.”
He shakes his head. “Then no.”
I close my eyes, bracing against the seat as the car starts to move.
“I’m really sorry.” I exhale and meet his unflappable gaze.
“Turns out my fatal relationship flaw isn’t control freak-ing .
. . It’s an indomitable urge to compartmentalize my life so if a relationship implodes, I don’t have to feel it everywhere.
” My voice drops to a whisper. “Which is a fucking stupid tactic because it doesn’t work. ”
He nods, lips pressing into a sad line.
“I almost threw up when you sent that text. I guess . . . I guess I thought we were past the phrase.”
“I guess I thought we were past the rules,” he says softly.
“I really thought you’d come back and talk it through.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His woodsy-ocean scent washes over me. I dig my fingers into the edge of the bench. “I was drunk when I sent it.”
“It was 12:30 in the afternoon.”
“I was still drunk from the night before.”
I swallow. “Because I made you relive one of the worst nights of your life?”
“Because I care about you more than you care about me.”
I shake my head, tilting closer, resting my gloved elbows on my skirt-covered legs as I search his eyes. The impish edge I noticed earlier has already melted out. They’re open again. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry I put you in a situation that threw you back to that day with your brother.”
He nods. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t come back.”
My heart somersaults across my chest as his eyes pierce me in that debilitating x-ray fashion that electrifies all logical thoughts into clear panes of glass.
“Why didn’t you just come back?” I croak.
“I fucked up. I was in pain. And then I saw you on the Ring at my house. I knew you must have gone inside to my brother.” He shakes his head. “I was already so anxious. It threw me into another spiral.”
“We only talked about you.”
“I know. He told me.”
I hang my head, a hopeless feeling coiling around my chest. “I miss you. A lot. Like all the time.”
“If I could go back to that moment and try it again, I wouldn’t leave the building. I’d pace it out for five minutes in the hall, come back, and talk it through.”
I close my eyes. “Yeah well . . . if you didn’t leave, maybe I’d never realize what I was doing with all the stupid fucking rules I was throwing at you.”
“I would have brought them up, Rikki. I realized.”
“I still had my pitch coming up. I would have still ended up heading to LA.”
He arches a brow, the hint of a smile on his lips. “What was the pitch? You deflected.”
I huff a laugh. “A producer, um, maybe you know her, Florence Leighton—”
Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Fire on the Lake on ?”
“Yeah!”
“And College Girls After a Murder?”
“Yes!” I smile at him. “Turns out she’s a huge fan of the Love Today podcast. She wanted to adapt it into a rom-com series.”
Reed’s jaw falls into an open grin. “Rikki! That’s amazing!”
“Yeah, it doesn’t feel real. She loved my pitch, and this still sounds ridiculous to say out loud: She hired me as head writer and showrunner. It’s all happened so fast, my head is still spinning.”
“What do you mean, ridiculous? That’s fucking fantastic, Rikki! I’m so happy for you! This is your Kelly Clarkson Show!”
I snort. “That’s what I said!”
We smile at each other across the shrinking chasm between us.
Reed shakes his head. “You would have told me about the pitch if I brought your attention to deleting our rules. And I wouldn’t have taken any job in New York.”
“But I didn’t know I was going to get pulled out here like that. I had no idea.”
“If you told me the situation with Florence, Rikki, I would have known.”
I heave in a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry.
I shrug instead. “I don’t know if I would have had the whole self-realization epiphany I did, if I didn’t go to your house and talk to your brother the day you sent the breakup text.
“That series of unfortunate events sent me into a creative tailspin that ended in me vomiting up the script for the Love Today pilot.”