CHAPTER 52 (2)

His words trip me because he’s never said them before, not while we were together or after we broke up. “There’s always a silver lining to these situations,” he continues. “I believe in your voice, and I have all the connections in the Manhattan arts community. I can make it easy for you to get this show produced. Or”—he adjusts the cuffs on his jacket—“I can make it difficult.” Cold washes over me at his barely veiled threat. I know I could work with him, turn away his advances. I trust myself, and I know he has the money and connections to make my dream a reality. I fold my napkin and set it on the table next to my plate. “You’re right, Ian. There is a silver lining.” His eyes soften, as if he knows I’m seeing reason. “What is this wine?” I ask him. Ian balks a moment, surprised, but tells me. I nod. “It’s great.” I make a note to get Avery a bottle as I lift my glass to him before taking a long sip, letting the flavors play over my tongue. “But dinner was a mistake.” He glances around, as if suddenly unsure of what’s happening. “You can take your funding and your contacts and your threats and go fuck yourself. Yourself and every other person in Manhattan if you like. But you won’t be fucking me, in bed or out of it.” I drain the last sip of wine before setting the glass back on the table. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I turn on my heel and head out toward the front of the restaurant. I’m pissed—pissed at his nerve, even if I shouldn’t be surprised by it. I don’t regret what I did, but I can’t shake the feeling that it could cost me. Ian’s not bluffing. He has the contacts to make my life easier or harder. I’ll deal with it. I’ve dealt with everything else that’s come my way. This project is too important to go down because of him. I pass the separate bar area of the hotel flanked by floor-to-ceiling glass windows and chrome chandeliers. My gaze catches on a man in a black sport coat and jeans at the bar. My steps slow and I change directions, cutting a straight path for him. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I pull up next to him. Timothy turns at the sound of my voice. His gaze drops down my body, eyes warming with appreciation. “I couldn’t stop you from coming. But I could come with you.” He turns a crystal lowball glass filled with ice and clear liquid in one hand, eyes crinkling with satisfaction and something like amusement. A moment ago, all I wanted was to get out of this restaurant, but his presence is like an escape valve, a life preserver. “How’s dinner?” he goes on as if this is a completely normal situation. “Well.” I shift in next to him at the bar and drum my fingers on the surface. “I found an amazing red wine.” I tell him the name, and he nods to the bartender for two glasses. “And the company?” Timothy presses as he turns back to me, his gaze more serious. “It’s rapidly improving.” I lift the wine and hold it out to him in a toast. He grins as he clinks his glass lightly with mine, and my heart kicks in my chest. The wine tastes delicious on my tongue, comfort down my throat. “I’m guessing the fact that you’re here instead of with him doesn’t bode well for your show.” “It does not,” I concede. “But I will figure it out. I always do.” “Yes, you do. And I have a gift for you.” I’m intrigued even before he pushes a paper bag down the bar. “Is it millions of dollars?” I quip. “Better.” I open it and peer inside, the scent of potatoes and oil making my stomach growl. “Oh my God. Cheese fries.” “From the diner near that comedy club we used to like. I watched you through the glass for the last ten minutes,” he admits. “Didn’t see you pick up your fork once.” Timothy’s not trying to touch me, to grab me, to make me do anything or be anything. He’s just here, bringing me five-dollar French fries in a five-star hotel. God, I missed my friend. I know my heart was broken when we parted ways, when I chose both our dreams over our future together, but I downplayed how much it hurt not to have this—the calm, dryly funny, quietly charming guy I’ve adored since before I knew what charm was. We eat every last fry and talk about everything. Timothy and Jacob’s life in LA. Andie’s new show and whether she and her agent have something going on. How I’m stuck on the last few verses of the most important song for this musical. The fact that he got Shane into the studio before coming to New York and was rewarded by something better than he could’ve imagined. “I told your dad I wanted to swap his dumb ass kid for Shane.” I grin. “How’d that go over?” “Not great.” It’s kind of nice to know I’m not the only person who argues with him. I gaze past Timothy at the sparkling people and tables. A couple of tables still cut looks at us, one discreetly trying to take pictures. “We’re going to be on the internet in thirty minutes, if we’re not already,” I murmur. Timothy reaches for the wine glass. “Do you care? Because I don’t.” I shake my head, smiling as he drinks. The way he fills out his unfussy jacket is a tailor’s wet dream. The dark, messy hair makes me itch to run my hands through it. Ian’s words come back. You’re saving yourself for someone. I was. Maybe I still am. “For an unavailable guy, you’re acting pretty available,” I comment after we’ve finished the bottle of wine and I’ve won rock paper scissors for the last stub of a fry in the bottom of the greasy paper box. Timothy frowns, confused. “What do you mean?” “When I said Shane had a crush on you,” I remind him, “you said she didn’t have a shot because you’re unavailable.” Understanding dawns. The fact that he doesn’t argue with me has my stomach sinking. “Please tell me you’re not seeing someone. That there’s not some woman who thinks she’s yours.” The idea is unbearable. Timothy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “No,” he says at last. “I’m not seeing anyone.” Relief washes over me, and I can breathe again. But the fear spiking through me a moment ago also reminds me how only a few days with him has me wanting things I have no business wanting with him. Timothy swipes the bill for the drinks before I can, but the laughter’s faded from his eyes, replaced by something serious and maybe even sad. “Let me drive you home.” “You got quiet,” Timothy observes in the town car as we cruise through the city toward my apartment. The lights penetrate the back windows, creating strips of illumination that run over his body and mine. “There’s not enough quiet in the world.” I lean my head on his shoulder, and Timothy huffs out a breath. When we pull up in front of the building, I have to force my legs out of the car because I don’t want it to end. “Walk me to my door?” I say on impulse. He shifts out of the car after me, a dark presence at my side. Like a dog who looks menacing or unapproachable to a stranger, he’s the comfort no one will ever understand. They don’t have to. In the hall outside my apartment, I fish my keys out of my bag. There’s a note on the door from Andie. If you’re coming home with NT, I’m going to kill you. Timothy lifts the note off the door, frowning. “Who’s NT?” “She means Ian. It’s an inside joke.” I take the note, crumpling it into a ball. My stomach tightens as I think about what the nickname means. “Emily.” Timothy steps between the door and me before I can slide the key into the lock. “Why did you date him?” I’ve asked myself the same question so many times these past few days. “I thought he was what I wanted. He didn’t look at me like I was crazy when I told him about my dreams. Though I guess he liked it because he could take advantage.” “I have always believed in you.” I nod. “I know. That’s the other reason I was drawn to him.” “Why?” “Because he was safe. Because I didn’t love him the way I loved you.” Timothy’s body relaxes, and I peer up into his face. There’s urgency that wasn’t there at the hotel, but he’s holding back. “Say it,” I demand. “Whatever it is that has you looking all broody after I thought we had a good time.” He captures my wrist, and I suck in a startled little breath as he strokes his thumb across my skin. The electricity between us that was content to sit back over dinner and drinks springs to life once again. Timothy turns my hand and skims his thumb across the lines in my palm, so different from the lines on his. “The reason I’m unavailable isn’t because I’m seeing someone else.” When his gaze meets mine, the emotion in his eyes hits me square in the chest. “It’s because my heart has always been yours.”