Page 3 of The Reunion

It’s hard to believe we were once inseparable, even harder to believe he was my safe place and I was his. Before the end of our last season, anyway, when everything came crashing down.

Despite it all, I feel an undeniable thrill at the sight of his name at the top of my screen; his words are rock candy at the bottom of my stomach, jagged but sparkling, a sweet aftertaste that leaves me feeling a little fizzy inside.

My body is a traitor.

There are worse ways to drown!I write back.You’re welcome.

I tap out of the window and into my thread with Bre.CALL ME ASAP, her most recent message says, on the heels of two others sent just before and just after my interview—You’ll be amazing!one says, and the other simply says,Killed it, Liv!

Once I’m all tucked in to the back seat of the shiny black Mercedes I arrived in, sunglasses firmly in place, I call her back.

“Liv?” Bre’s voice is loud in my ear. “My inbox is blowing up with requests passed along from Mars and Attica—there’s a magazine in Spain that wants you to shoot a cover for them, I think that’s one of the best ones, but point is, I’m going to send you a list in twenty minutes, and I need you to approve at least eight of the opportunities and no more than twelve. That’s a request from Attica.”

Attica, my twenty-six-year-old publicist, has the energy of a rabbit and the instincts of a tiger shark. Bless her. She’s a relatively new addition to my team—I hired her a few years back to help with press when the first indie film I did started to take off. Marsden, on the other hand, has been my agent since the beginning, a tour de force of patience and wisdom and razor-sharp intuition.

“Mars will work with legal to handle the contracts,” Bre goes on,“and I’ll make sure all the scheduling works out. Oh, and Liv, your social is absolutelyexploding—between your interview with Jade and the GIFs the new fans are starting to circulate and the kittenpalooza over on Ransom’s account, you’re trending everywhere. If you could work in a post or two before noon and a story or two by three p.m.—where you’re talking to the viewer and where we can clearly see your face, but definitely with a tone that saysI’m oh so natural and relatable, everyone!—that would be great. That’s another request from Attica, by the way. Oh, and—”

“Bre?” I cut in. Her energy isnecessary, but on a normal day, it’s never as frenetic as this. “I’ll look out for your email, thanks, and I’ll do my best with the social media. Pass my thanks to Mars and Attica, too, okay? Now take a breath. Are you breathing?”

“I am. Yes. Yes, thank you—today’s a bit more hectic than usual and—”

“Bre. You’re amazing. I couldn’t live without you, and I’m beyond grateful,” I say. “But I think you should take an hour and go get some gelato. Tell me you’re going to get some gelato, okay?”

A beat of silence passes. “Okay. Okay, yes, you’re right. Thank you.” The way her energy starts to settle is palpable, even over the phone. “I’ll go right after I send the list your way. We’re still on for quarter to six tonight?”

“Unless you have more interesting plans that come up between now and then,” I deadpan. As we are both very much single these days, Bre has agreed to be my plus-one for the fancy dinner Fanline’s throwing for the cast and crew tonight to kick off the show’s anniversary festivities. She—Bre Livingston, who makes new friends in the snacks aisle at Trader Joe’s—went full-on speechless when I invited her. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen another person so excited.

“Iwasthinking about finally getting started on knitting an ugly Christmas sweater for Sergeant Moonbeam…”

“Oh, yes, I can see how knitting your cat a Christmas sweaterin Junemight take priority,” I say, smirking into the lid of my flat white.

“When you put it that way, I guess I could put it off for another day or so.”

“Such sacrifices! I know you’re not looking forward to thisat all.”

“Only for you, Liv. Only for you.”

“You’re the best,” I say. “See you tonight.”

This barrage of requests pouring in all at once? It’s not normal for either of us. WhenGirlwas still on the air, no one ever asked for my input—I’ve since learned that having a say in things is a blessing and a curse. So is being back in the public spotlight more significantly than I have been in quite some time.

Speaking of, did she say I’mtrending? I open my Flitterbird profile and… oh. Four million followers and growing, more than double the number I had when I last checked a couple of days ago. I don’t dare look at my mentions. Before I can stow my phone away in my handbag, though, it vibrates with another new text.

Ransom—again.

Not for the first time this week, my mind trips over the fact that he’ll be at the dinner tonight in the flesh, sharing the same air as me. We haven’t been in the same physical space in fourteen years—it feels like fire to think about, something warm and familiar and captivating that could burn if I let down my guard and get too close.

GQ wants to do my shoot this afternoon with a literal pile of kittens surrounding me, WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN ME INTO, LIVVIE

I can’t help myself, I smile.

And then I remember how close we were, and then how close we weren’t, and it fades.

You know you love it, I write back. He’s never been one to say no to attention, has never felt the crushing weight of the spotlight like I have—only its warmth.

I tuck my phone away, look out the window instead to watch the world pass by. I’ve been in a thousand cars just like this one, done a thousand interviews—but today feels different. New. Like a beginning, like the start of something big.

Like a landslide.

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