Page 37 of Ticket to You

“Thanks, El. I should probably go. It sounds like I have some articles to read. Love you.”

Eloise spends a few minutes rattling off her encouragement before finally hanging up. Immediately after the line goes dead, I google “Ophelia Brooks,Atelier Today.”

* * *

In our room,the sliding glass door to the balcony is open. Beyond it, Ophelia sits perfectly composed. As expected, she’s typing away furiously at her computer, doing whatever she can to save her career.

“They don’t have any other rooms,” I tell her, already working on arranging a pillow and a sheet on the ground.

“You’re not taking the floor, Abrams,” she says without looking at me. “It’s hardwood. You won’t be able to sleep. More importantly,Iwon’t be able to sleep because I’ll feel too guilty. And don’t try to tell me you like sleeping on the floor the way you like sleeping on a couch.”

“I can get a room back in town,” I lie.

Ophelia groans and walks inside, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

I stand motionless for a minute, trying to slow my reeling thoughts. “The lifts shut down an hour ago, anyway. I was going to bum it in the stairwell or something.”

Ophelia smirks blithely. “Well, I didn’t know that was on the table. So on second thought…”

I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to look calmer than I feel. “That was quite the story you got today. Very…human. I’m impressed with how well you connected to them.”

“Am I hearing correctly? Was that acompliment?”

“Is it that surprising?” I ask, staring up at Ophelia from under my eyelashes.

She raises her eyebrows as if to say,Do you really need to ask that?

Just to have something to do, I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been doing some homework.”

Ophelia says nothing, so I continue.

“After talking to the front desk clerk, I read through some of your work onAtelier’s website.”

“Are you hoping I’ll pity you for subjecting yourself to my writing?” Ophelia asks with a smile.

“You’re good,” I say, my voice sounding sterner than I intended. “You’re…really good.”Very eloquent, idiot.“You’re illustrative in your writing and bring personality to it. You add depth toAtelier, and I think your interview today has the potential to be your best one yet. There was so much heart in it.”

Ophelia laughs dryly, probably thrown by this new side of me. “And what makes you say that?”

“You connected with Anja and Serena. You saw their story, theirtruestory, and I know from reading your other work that you’ll put it into words with grace.”

“Well, I’m noAdam Abrams, but I hold my own.”

I clench my jaw, already overthinking my long-overdue apology. “Ophelia?”

Her expression is guarded and her feet are planted firmly just inside the balcony door. “Mm?”

“I’m sorry. For what happened at the holiday party,” I murmur, forcing myself to meet her unyielding gaze.

Ophelia tries to shake off my words with a wave of her hand. The corner of her mouth lifts. “It was just a dress—a gorgeous, irreplaceable dress. No big deal.”

“Not that—well, yeah, that too. But I’m sorry for what I said, and especially sorry that you had to hear it. Earlier that day, I found out most of my friends atOutdoorsywere fired. It put me on edge, though that isn’t an excuse for what I said. I had no grounds to call you vapid or conceited. I was lashing out. I was being a pompous jerk.”

For a while, Ophelia stays silent. But she keeps her hazel eyes on me. The green and gold flecks seem to swim with emotion. “Thank you, Adam,” she says finally, her voice even raspier than usual.

My mouth goes dry as if burned by my words. “Well,” I force out, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to go shower and turn in a bit early.”

The shower was meant to be a distraction, but the bathroom smells like Ophelia’s rich vanilla perfume, making my efforts moot.

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