“Those aren’t little things, my friend.”
“Yeah. They’re big things, right?” I sigh heavily. So many damn obstacles.
He laughs. “They aren’t big things either, buddy.”
I whip my gaze to him. “They’re only our career, my livelihood, some dickhead competitor, Emerson’s issues with grief, and, ya know, all my shit too.”
“But those aren’t impediments.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in love with her. None of that matters,” he says matter-of-factly.
I arch a skeptical brow. “None of them?”
TJ laughs. “Is that a question or a statement?”
That’s all it takes, and his certainty becomes my own. The clarity of his understanding belongs to me now too. Those details don’t matter. They are roadblocks, and I’ll find a way around them because I want what’s on the other side.
So, fuck everything else.
“It was a question. But it’s a statement now,” I say emphatically.
TJ blows out a breath like a proud teacher. “It’s a good day when a man realizes what he wants.”
We walk past a bank, where a screen flickers in the corner of the ATM lobby, streaming a news channel. The ticker tape below the anchor reads: Jude Fox earns his first nomination.
The picture switches to a good-looking blond dude flashing a winning grin as a reporter interviews him. I can’t tell what he says, but he looks pleased.
TJ looks . . . stunned. And, also, he looks like he cares.
A lot.
“You know Jude Fox?”
He nods. “Yeah, I do.”
“Jude Fox, as in the star of If Found, Please Return?”
“Yup.”
I lift a brow, then realization dawns. “Ohhh. Is he why you went to Los Angeles that time you were all secretive about why you were going?”
With a heavy sigh, he nods. “Bingo. But that’s a story for another time.” He taps his watch. TJ doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I know what I need to do.
Make big plans.
“The last time we went for a run. You said something about a friend,” I say, prompting TJ.
“Yes. Yes, I did. The guy in Queens.”
“Can I have his number?”
“I’ll text it to you.”
I take off, picking up the pace. Along the way, I call my brother and make plans that scare the hell out of me. Then I call Hayes, since my agent also happens to be my buddy, and I tell him about my big gamble. I’d tell him in person, but he’s across the country at a movie premiere.
“Go for it. I’m behind you,” Hayes says, and his support helps me keep moving forward with my decision, since TJ was right—all those things aren’t hurdles.
Then, I text the guy in Queens. And when it’s nearly time for Emerson and me to meet at the hotel with the network, I call her.
25
Other Plans
Emerson
* * *
Jo’s one-bedroom apartment—now mine for a spell—smells like lilacs. As I leave for the meeting at the hotel, locking the door behind me, I text Jo to tell her as much. She’s taxiing on the JFK tarmac, ready to fly away on her new adventure.
Good luck on the other side of the ocean, I tell her.
Her reply is swift. I hope you have your own fabulous adventure in New York.
I hope so too.
I’ve needed a place that’s all mine. That doesn’t belong to my sister or my past. Something I can make my own.
There’s only one thing I want all for myself. And thanks to the call with my mom and my decision to stay, I’m ready for it.
As I make my way back to the hotel, I start to dial Nolan to ask if he can meet before we see Ilene, but before I can tap in his name, it’s flashing on the screen as the phone buzzes.
He hardly ever calls me. He usually texts. My heart scampers in my chest, maybe even cartwheels.
Luck. This feels like my ladybug luck.
I hope so deeply he wants the same thing I do, so fervently, that when I answer on half a ring, I know my voice is full of all my wishes.
“Hi,” I say, a little breathless.
“Would you want to go on a date with me tonight? There’s this great new restaurant I heard about, and I thought . . . No cameras. Just you and me. A date. In case that wasn’t clear. A date.”
I stop on the sidewalk. A block ahead of me, I spot the broad shoulders, the sly grin, the adorable glasses of my best guy friend. He’s headed my way, cradling his phone to his face, and his smile is just for me.
For phone me, because he hasn’t seen me yet.
“I’ll tell you in person in about a block,” I say, then I watch him scan the street until he finds me. With a grin, he ends the call and quickens his stride until he’s standing in front of me.
He grabs my shoulders. “I don’t care if we get the show. I don’t care what happens with Webflix. I don’t care if I have to crash with a friend or ask my brother for help with the loan. I don’t care. I’m staying in New York because you’re here and I want to be with you. And that’s what I care about most. I’m in love with you, and I want to kiss you, again and again, every single day.”