I can totally do this.
I can’t do this.
It echoes through my head as I don street clothes, let myself into Forest’s place, prepare his room.
As I apply makeup (I go by Princess Skye for a reason and that reason is not a natural, California beach babe vibe).
As I fix my hair.
As I stare at my cell, waiting for Forest’s I’m on my way text.
I pace around the room. Move downstairs. Put on my favorite movie.
Before Sunset. It’s the middle one of a trilogy, but I know these three movies like the back of my hand.
It’s a magical series. In the first, Before Sunrise, two strangers meet on a train in Vienna. They spend the night together, talking about love and life and philosophy.
In the morning, they part ways with a promise to meet at the train station in exactly six months.
It’s a sweet movie. Like my first year of college. Like teaching Ariel how to do a smoky eye. Walking on the boardwalk with ice cream (sorbet for me). Mackenzie and I hanging out in the pool during one of her parents’ work-vacations.
A world full of possibilities. Perfect in its optimism.
In the next, Before Sunset, the characters meet again. It’s half a decade later. The hero wrote a book about their night together (technically, it’s fiction). He’s on a tour, at his last stop in Paris.
And there she is. The heroine.
They missed each other at the train station. They moved on to new lives, new loves, new passions.
Or so they thought.
They try to act nice, make small talk, catch up. But their facades break. She can’t stand what his book did to her. How it reminded her of who she used to be. She’s become someone else in this time, someone out of touch with romance and optimism.
She lost some part of herself when she didn’t see him again.
And here he is and she’s found it. But she has a boyfriend. He’s married with a kid.
Things are strained with his wife. They’re only together for the kid.
She only makes it work with her boyfriend because he’s away half the time.
They end the movie in her apartment, listening to music, lingering in this moment. He’s watching her dance, his expression the picture of love, his posture finally relaxed.
She tells him he’s going to miss his flight.
He knows.
An ambiguous ending. Answered by the third movie, sure, but perfect as it is. One moment of real connection, intimacy, love.
They know they own a part of each other’s souls. That they have to choose between giving up their lives and giving up a piece of themselves.
It’s real and raw and romantic at once.
It makes me believe in love.
That there’s someone out there who will fill the emptiness in my heart.
Then the movie ends and I…
Forest is the only person I trust. And he…
It’s not happening.
I push that aside. Focus on the snappy banter and the quaint charm of Paris.
The door opens.
Forest’s eyes flit from me to the TV. He smiles. “You’re a parody of yourself.”
“And what were you listening to during your workout this morning?”
His lips curl into a smile. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re supposed to listen to music on repeat.”
“So?”
“Who watches the same movie once a week?”
“People with taste.” I hit pause on the remote. The TV freezes on an image of Jesse and Celine sipping coffee. “You’d like it if it had explosions.”
“You’d like it better if I had explosions.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Is that your idea of dirty talk?”
He clicks the lock. Raises a brow. “No.” His smile gets smug. “You can’t handle my idea of dirty talk.”
Yes, now, please. “Uh…” These lace panties won’t survive that level of enthusiasm. “We should get started. While we have the light.”
He nods sure.
“The boxers they sent for you are on the bed. And dark jeans over that. But not too tight. I don’t want lines.” My gaze drifts to his hips. That tattoo. I can’t see it, but I still itch to trace every letter. “Those are a good fit. But darker. If you have that.”
He nods sure. “Give me ten.”
“Sure, yeah. Do you want coffee or something?”
“No. Chase brought in cold brews.”
“What a nice boss.”
He makes that kinda gesture. “Compared to you, maybe.”
“We haven’t even started.”
“I know you, Skye. You’re gonna work me hard.” He motions to the fridge. “Stocked it with matcha and almond milk yesterday.”
“Oh.” My tongue slides over my lips reflexively.
“I’ll make you one—”
“No, change. We need to start.” I need to gain some semblance of sense before I literally tear his clothes off.
I mean, I am going to remove his clothes.
But it needs to be—
God, it’s hot in here.
“I’ll make it.” Maybe I can figure out how to ice a matcha latte. Or maybe I can figure out how to ice my entire body.
Anything to keep me from melting.
Forest nods all right, moves up the stairs, shuts his bedroom door.