Page 90 of One-Star Romance

“Look at the evidence,” he said, deadpan. “Here you have your dream man—”

“Dream man, huh?”

“Yes. And you’re not going to even see where it goes?” He was still deadpan, teasing, but at his sides, his hands shook a little with nerves. Her heart swelled at the evidence of what this meant to him, the effort it was taking to put himself in this position. Rob had spent so much time afraid of failure, and now here he was, insisting that they try something that could very well be doomed.

“Here’s what I’ve been thinking, as a counterproposal,” she said. “No pressure, no labels. We simply call and talk when we want to hear each other’s voices. And we’ll see where it goes. How about that?”

He stared at her for a moment, his dark eyebrows knitted together. “Fine. Deal.”

She held out her hand for a shake. He took it, then pulled her in, startling her into laughter again. “Please stop laughing so I can kiss you.”

She cut her laughter off quickly, and he tilted her mouth to his. This kiss was bittersweet. It could very well be their last one. But it could also be the beginning of many more to come.

When he released her, she gasped, having forgotten entirely about the cold while his arms were around her.

“Goodbye,” he said, and his own eyes were growing shiny too. She reached out and touched his cheek.

“Goodbye for now.”

She got into the car, settling in for a long journey, sneaking glances at Rob in the driveway. He was standing resolute in the cold to wave her off.

At the end of the driveway, as she readied herself to turn onto the road, her phone began to buzz. Rob. She answered on the car’s speakers.

“Hi, did I forget something?”

“No,” he said. “You said I should call when I wanted to hear your voice. I’m simply doing as directed.”

Part Seven

APRIL 2021

Three and a Half Months Later

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

BCC: [email protected], RobertKapinsky @gmail.com, and many others

Hello all!

It has been a long hard winter (well, really a long hard entire year), but spring has sprung! Gabby has recovered beautifully from her surgery, which is not a surprise because she does all things beautifully. We thank you for all the home-cooked meals, the babysitting offers, and the rides to and from the hospital, and are pleased to say that Gabby’s doctors are very hopeful. And I’ve been learning the ropes at the flagship Stoat and Sons. That’s why I’m writing today. Hold on to your hats, but my father and I will be unveiling our first billboard together, and you’re invited! We’ll gather right near Exit 14 on the Turnpike to watch the unveiling (my picture is going to be ten feet tall! And the doctors said I’d never grow beyond 5’6”), then head over to the store’s patio for drinks and food. Perhaps we will even get to hug again! How I’ve missed hugging. Can’t wait to see you there.

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“We should get to the billboard unveiling,” Natalie said. “If we’re late, this is not my fault.”

“There will be more billboards,” Rob said, kissing her neck, a neck he’d seen in Zooms and photos over the past few months, a neck he’d imagined kissing countless times on hours-long phone calls, a neck that smelled like sex, a neck that was even better in person than in his memory of it, much like the rest of the person attached to it. “I have a feeling Angus will have a long, illustrious career in the furniture world.”

Natalie cackled as he rolled back on top of her, pinning her to his bed, and for a while they stopped talking entirely as they refamiliarized themselves with each other for the third time that afternoon.

Over the past few months, Rob had tried to convince himself that it was romantic, being so far away from each other. By not being able to touch, they were getting to know each other’s minds, like correspondents falling for each other via letters in olden times. But he was a good multitasker, and this visit was proving to him that he was perfectly capable of getting to know both her mind and body simultaneously.

“So, I talked to my agent,” Natalie said, when they finally emerged from bed to get a snack from Rob’s kitchen. Her hair was mussed, her bare legs sticking out from one of Rob’s button-down shirts. “She read the rough draft of the book.”

“Yeah?” Rob asked, eating a spoonful of peanut butter.

Natalie had been sending Gabby chapters of her new project, Dickens-style installments, to help keep her entertained through her recovery. After some convincing, she’d agreed to send them to Rob too, telling him to be kind. This new novel was a love story, though not just about romantic love. The chapters he’d read were suffused with warmth and humor, all the best, goofiest, most sincere parts of Natalie on the page. No overt facsimiles of real life, though he flattered himself sometimes that he could see hints of himself in the male lead if he squinted hard.

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