Chapter 41
I walk dogs, then race back to spend every spare moment with Mike. He comes home from work or class, taps on my door, and we talk and flirt before he kisses me good night. I bounce into his kitchen the next morning and steal kisses along with cranberry juice and blackberries.
“Mike.”
“Yes, Bea.” He’s reading on the sofa in the living room, blue pen in hand.
“House is looking great.”
“Yes, and…” He pauses to scribble a note.
“When are you going to list it?”
He looks up from the book. “You’ve gotten attached.”
“Can you blame me?” I flop down on the sofa next to him. “My boyfriend has a beach house in La Jolla with a view that could make even former-heartless-lawyer types weep.”
Mike goes quiet.
“Did I scare you with the boyfriend label?”
“Shocked me. I haven’t been anyone’s boyfriend in a very long time. What about you? How long has it been since you’ve been someone’s girlfriend?”
“Couple of years. I broke up with my law school boyfriend when I moved back home and got hired on by my dad’s firm.”
“Nothing after?” A smirk is forming on Mike’s lips.
Is he trying to make me blush? “It’s hard to meet people when you’re Daddy’s little junior partner.”
“Hard to meet people when you’re hoping the handsome actor from your brother’s escape room calls you back.”
“Sometimes I think you’re full of it.”
“I always think you’re full of it.” Mike turns his attention back to the book in his hand. “What about before law school?”
“Sure, I went on a couple of dates, but they never turned into anything serious.”
“Are we serious?” Mike asks.
“We could be.” I lace my fingers with his. “I’d like to be…”
“And serious would look like what exactly? Couch surfing with me while I bounce from one Shakespeare festival to another?”
“If it means I get to see you perform every night, I’m there. I’m sure there are dogs that need walking all over this country.”
Mike dog-ears a page in his book before closing it. “You’d do that? You’d give up your entire career to follow me around as I chase down parts?”
“Yes.” The breeze has shifted, and for once, this room feels stuffy.
“For how long? How many summers before you want out?”
“Come on, Mike.” I rise to open another window.
“I’m serious.”
“Who needs summer festivals when LA is an hour and a half away? Everyone knows that all the great Starship Cruiser captains were once Shakespearean actors—”
“You have an endgame.”
“No. It’s too early to be thinking about endgames.” This is true, but it hasn’t stopped me from daydreaming.
“But if you did?” Mike presses.
“We’d live happily ever after. I’d follow you up to LA for work. On the weekends, we’d come back here to La Jolla. In the summers, we’d bounce around with the festivals.”
“Come on, Bea. Give me more credit. You love having a home, your own space. You’d hate the nomad existence.”
“I would not.” I join him on the couch once again, lifting his arms to wrap them around me. “I would delight in all the forced proximity that would push what we have into something even hotter.”
“Because sofa beds and no door for privacy is super hot.” He gives me a squeeze and a quick kiss on the top of my head before pulling away.
“Mike, you could do anything.”
“No. That’s the point,” he says, rising.
“And I can’t be serious with anyone who doesn’t understand that I’m not going to save lives in the ER.
I’m not going to argue nonstop until my client gets what they’re due.
I’m not going to catch bad guys or fight fires.
I’m going to act. I’m going to keep telling Shakespeare’s stories.
” He’s pacing in front of the big window.
“This is why I’m here. This is what I have to contribute.
” He runs a hand through his hair. “I love you. I think about you… And I’ve thought about us.
I’m not going to drag you into this. You deserve more than I can give.
You want a home. You want weekends watching Starship Cruiser and weekdays reading.
You don’t want to be dragged across the country to chase the next Shakespeare festival. ”
“You could be more. You could be in film, streamed—”
“I like the stage, Bea,” Mike says, sinking back onto the sofa.
“More than me? Oh my gosh, are you breaking up with me?”
“Of course not.” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m bad at this. I heard the boyfriend label and panicked about a future that will work itself out in its own time.”
Work itself out? The way my career in corporate law worked itself out? I don’t like the sound of that.