CHAPTER 49 (1)

“I don’t want to wear that.” Sophia gives me pre-schooler side-eye, then runs across the room toward her toys. I sit back on my heels, the dress clutched in my hands, and wish for caffeine. I offered to take my half sister to daycare today before starting on my work, but it’s proving harder than expected. I scan her room, looking at the white furniture, the rainbow bedspread, the corner box of toys and puzzles where she’s currently pulling things out, one after another. “Hey, let’s play a game,” I decide. “If you can pick out all your school things, I’ll sing you a song in the car.” Miracle of miracles, it works. After dropping her off, I head to the café that used to be my favorite in high school and open my tablet. When I emailed Miranda to say I’d be in Dallas a couple of weeks working, she agreed. I promised we’d email every day or two to talk progress. There’s another person I need to update, and I’m less optimistic about the response I’ll get. Most of the musical is scored, but some of the lyrics aren’t finished. In particular, there’s a song between the two main characters I can’t get right. Back in school, it always seemed that emotions flowed through me, desperate to get out. All I had to do was put them on a page. But writing a musical isn’t only about feeling—it’s about story—a narrative that was born to be told through song, one that can only be fulfilled in that format. Even though I was involved in this show from the earliest days—the idea was Miranda’s and mine, and it started being crafted back the first semester we worked together on the other show—it’s not something you can half-ass like an assignment for course credit and cross your fingers for a good grade. Getting a new musical to the stage requires millions of dollars, and while there’s not one way to get it right, there are so many ways to get it wrong. Which is why I need to call Ian. He didn’t leave a message when he called yesterday, which is Ian-speak for “I’m too important to leave a message.” But I can’t put this off. I hit his contact on my cell, my stomach clenching. The line rings, and I turn the coffee cup in my hand. Voicemail kicks in and I take a breath before starting. “Ian, it’s Emily. Andie said you were looking for me. I wanted to let you know I’m staying in Dallas for a couple of weeks while I finish the book for the musical. Once Miranda and I are satisfied with it, we’ll send it to you and the three of us can discuss it in advance of the reading. Despite…what happened between us, I assume you’re still interested in being a primary funder, which is why I want to keep you as informed as possible. If you have any questions or concerns, you know where to reach me.” I click off, satisfied I got my point across. It’s a moment before I realize someone’s stopped near my elbow. I glance up and nearly knock my tablet off the table. “Avery!” I squeal as my friend breaks into a grin. I jump up and hug her familiar form, dressed in a cute black jumpsuit and wedge sandals. “What are you doing here? I thought you were traveling to cover entertainment news at the newspaper!” “It’s my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and a bunch of our family’s in town. So, I’m home for the week.” My friend cuts a look toward the menu, and I scan the pastry cabinet while she orders. “What are you doing here?” I tell her about my dad’s party, that I decided to stay. “But my dad and I haven’t really talked,” I finish. “Which is why you’re here at the café, avoiding him and wearing clothes you bought junior year?” “Not avoiding. Working.” I glance down at my white tank top tucked into denim shorts. “And I didn’t really pack for an extended stay, so I raided my high school clothes. They’re tighter than I remember.” “Yes. And also, you look amazing.” I laugh. Avery gets her drink, and I order a croissant. “So, you using your dad’s new studio while you’re home?” she says once we’re sitting back at the table. “No, but Timothy’s working with my dad.” She nearly spits out her coffee, laughing. “Timothy Adams, international music sensation, Prince of Oakwood, King of Vanier, Duke of Emily Carlton’s heart, is in Dallas.” She has the decency to lower her voice when she says it. I break off a piece of the croissant and shift in my seat. “We went to a concert last night.” When he showed up at the pool, all frustrated and gorgeous and making me remember how things used to be, I wanted to go with him even though it was a bad idea. Plus, we had fun. God, we had so much fun, more than I’ve had in a long time. His intensity’s still there, but he has this new relaxedness too. He was always sure of how to act in the world because he figures out everything and everyone, but now it’s like the wheels in his head aren’t turning quite so fast, as though he’s not so busy judging everything and everyone. “I’m glad you guys are making nice. I remember how hard it was on you when he left.” Avery’s voice pulls me back. “Would you ever get back together?” “No.” The word comes out fast. “I’m not going near men for a long time.” Even if Timothy’s more gorgeous than ever, and everything about him Jacobs me closer. Lying in bed next to him last night, hearing his steady breathing, feeling his closeness, was not something I’d planned. But we’d had such a good time and I didn’t want to wake up half the house by getting home late. Saying yes to the innocent offer to crash left me with more than I bargained for. “I know you and Ian dated for six months,” Avery goes on. “Meaning?” I arch a brow and she lifts both palms. “Hot rebound sex. Hear me out,” she goes on at my expression. “Timothy’s fire. Always was, and he’s only gotten hotter with age and the whole famous thing.” “He’s not that famous.” She cringes. “If you’re in Rolling Stone, you’re famous. If you’re playing a benefit concert this weekend in LA with four other Grammy-winning acts? You’re famous. The point is, you’re both unattached. You’re in Dallas, and he’s living in the pool house.” “Helping at my dad’s studio,” I correct. “The universe doesn’t want us to get back together.” “Maybe the universe wants you to bang for old time’s sake.” Shivers run down my spine, settle in my breasts and between my thighs. Sex with Timothy is a terrible idea. Not because I’m not attracted to him. Seeing him strip off his shirt last night to reveal miles of cut pecs and abs covered with swirls of ink... It took everything in me not to melt into the carpet of the fancy hotel suite. Is that why I didn’t want to tell him about Ian—because I was afraid I couldn’t handle him if he knew? I shove the thought down. I can handle Timothy. All of him. He’s changed over the past two years, and so have I. I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a grown woman with a career and the ability to know what’s right for her. Avery gets up and hugs me again. “Well, I need to go check in with the caterer. It was good to see you. We need to get lunch when we’re both back in New York.” “Done.” She waves and vanishes out the door, and I glance at my phone. I had it set to silent, but the voicemail is lit up, and the number has my good vibes evaporating. Ian’s smooth voice flows out of the speaker when I hit Listen. “Emily. When you called, I was having breakfast with a couple of colleagues who’ll be attending the reading at the end of the summer. Given how soon that is, I need more than a promise to share the book when it’s finished. Not only am I hosting this reading, but I’m inviting funders from my own network. It may be your work, but it’s my reputation on the line.” Pause. “I don’t want you to turn what happened between us into an excuse to be unprofessional. What happened with that woman wasn’t personal, and it had nothing to do with you and me. Maybe you’re too young to understand the difference. Someday, you’ll—” I hang up without listening to the rest. I’m being unprofessional? You fucked some actress who wanted your connections.