Page 124 of That Reunited Feeling

“But…” He moves toward my desk and leans on it, bending down to get closer to my eye level. That always errant chunk of hair does its always sexy thing and falls across his face—his gorgeous face—causing me to clench my hands together to stop one of them from reaching over the desk to push it back. “If you have any interest in being with me, Hannah. Any at all. Even the faintest glimmer. Just say the word and I’m here.”

I squeeze my knuckles tighter. “It can’t work, Tom. I have to be here. And you don’t want to be.”

“Ah.” He raises a finger, then heads back to the bag he dropped in the doorway. “I have something to show you.”

He bends down and pulls out a pair of jeans, some socks, a toiletries bag, and a large envelope. Standing up, he slides something out of the envelope. It’s a white laminated sheet with a grid on it.

“What’s that?”

“A scorecard.”

Oh, God. My heart softens and flutters at the same time. “You mean like the one I made for the bands in Boston?” Could this be any cuter?

“Exactly. Except this is for scoring whether LA is a good place to live or not.”

Okay, well this could easily be about to turn out more disappointing than cute. “I think we’re both very clear about your feelings on that subject.”

He raises his eyebrows in a don’t-you-be-so-sure way. “Let’s take a look at the scorecard and find out, shall we?”

He reaches over my computer monitor and props it in front of the screen. There are two columns. The left headed “Los Angeles.” The right, “Everywhere Else.” Each square of the grid is covered with a sticky note.

“Peel off the first sticker,” he says.

The first box under LA reads, “No decent fish and chips.”

“Now the one next to it,” he says.

Under “Everywhere Else” it reads, “No Hannah.”

My heart lurches as a smile spreads across my face, and I close my eyes for a moment, shaking my head at the adorableness of it.

He’s made me a scorecard, for fuck’s sake.

Also, he might be right about the fish and chips. The one time I’ve had them here the batter was so soggy I had to scrape it off and eat just the fish.

“Keep going,” he says.

The second line reads:

LA:No seasons

Everywhere Else:No Hannah

I mean, seriously. If his goal is to strum my heartstrings like a guitar, he’s succeeding. And playing a mighty fine tune.

The third line:

LA:No history

Everywhere Else:No Hannah

I’m warm now, very warm. I reach for the stickies on the fourth row and peel them off with shaky fingers.

LA:Many paparazzi

Everywhere Else:No Hannah

If two people want to be together enough, can they make it happen even if it seems impossible?

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