Page 48 of The Love We Make

“I promise.”

I follow Mimi to her car. While she drives, she orders lunch to be delivered at an address I don’t recognize. Less than ten minutes later she parks in front of a glitzy office building. The huge sign at the front says ‘Gloves Off Productions’.

“Your office?”

“It has perks,” is all Mimi says. “We’ll go in the back so no one asks any annoying questions.”

I follow Mimi to the back of the building. She escorts me to a bank of elevators. When someone walks up to us, she just holds up her hand and gives a shake of the head. The person slinks off like my dogs do when they know they’ve done something wrong. She’s the boss, all right. And fuck if it doesn’t excite the hell out of me. As we go up in the elevator it hits me that, even though we’ve decided to just be friends—on my insistence—this feels a lot like dating. Her showing up and whisking me away. Her staying after her family left my house on Saturday. Sending each other flowers. That utterly blissful massage.

I glance at her. She’s wearing a pants suit today instead of one of the pencil skirts I’ve gotten used to seeing her in. She still looks gorgeous as ever. Elegant and in command, but also infinitely kind toward me—and Stella, earlier. Over the weeks that I’ve known her, and gotten to know her better, it has become more and more obvious that Mimi St James is a rare gem of a person, especially in Hollywood. The CEO with a heart of gold. The career woman with four children who adore her. The executive who puts people’s wellbeing over money. The kind of person who drops everything to pick up her drunken ex even after she broke her heart.

The elevator takes us to the top floor and it’s as though, even though the ride was swift, the journey upward has given me a new perspective—some new insight into what this might be.

She walks us to a glass door that leads out onto the roof. Someone rushes toward us with a paper bag held out in front of them.

“Thank you very much, Adam.” Mimi takes the bag. “That’s lunch.” She holds the door open for me. I walk out and look out over downtown LA.

“With where you live, I figured you weren’t afraid of heights.”

“Wow.” We’re so high up, traffic down below sounds like the soft buzz of a fly. “You weren’t kidding about those perks.”

“Come.” Mimi walks to an area shielded off by plexiglass walls. It boasts a wooden table and a couple of chairs—and even a few plants. “First thing I had installed when I became the boss. I can think much more clearly up here. I never make a difficult decision without coming out here.”

It’s so rare for me to be impressed with another person, let alone this impressed. But I can see what has happened here. I’ve given Mimi the chance to impress me—not a kindness I allow many strangers. I’ve left the door of my usually airtight heart ajar and, over time, she has inched her way in. That also explains the kiss-that-never-was. And yes, I’m still me. I’m still convinced a romantic relationship is out of my reach and that I will fuck things up at an astounding speed but, right now, it doesn’t really matter. Right now, I would very much like to kiss Mimi again—and too much wine has nothing to do with it.

Mimi grabs a tablecloth and napkins from a cabinet against the wall. She removes our lunches from the bag and sets the table. Eating is the last thing on my mind, but it’s a joy to see her do this—to have her make this effort for me.

“I hope water’s fine?” She puts two bottles on the table. “Although if you want something else, I can call for it.”

“Water’s perfect. All of this is absolutely perfect.” Instead of taking a seat in the chair she just pulled out for me, I stand next to her. “You… are absolutely perfect.”

Mimi turns to me. “We both know I’m not, but I’ll take it.”

“Mimi, I—um.” It’s much harder to do this without a good dose of liquid courage. “Thank you.” I touch a finger to her hand, hook my pinkie into hers. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat.

“It’s just lunch.” Her voice has dropped into a lower register.

“I don’t think it is.” I swallow hard.

“Maybe it’s not, then.” By the tone of her voice, and the intense look in her eyes, I can tell she’s right here with me—not only on this rooftop, but in this moment. In this pause before I’m about to do something I vowed—and I told her—I would never do in the sober light of day. But the sky stretches blue and endless beyond us. It’s the middle of a workday. I’m in full possession of all my faculties. I have no mitigating circumstances, only the acute, irresistible desire to do this.

What’s the protocol these days? Do you have to ask someone’s permission before you kiss them? I don’t know, so I do.

“Can I?” I ask.

“Can you what, Nora?” Mimi’s fingers tighten around my hand.

“Can I kiss you?” I look straight into her dark eyes.

“You can if you want to. Do you want to?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

Mimi doesn’t reply with words. I bring my hand to her cheek, caress it with the back of my fingers. She leans into my touch. I slide my fingers to her chin, tilt it toward me.

I lean in and I don’t think about the consequences. I only think about Mimi’s lips. About how it will feel to finally kiss her—because if I’m being honest, I’ve been wanting to do this since long before today. Since long before she brought me to this romantic rooftop.

It’s time to find out. I brush my lips against hers and even though we’ve barely touched, even though it was only the prelude to an actual full kiss, a dam inside me starts crumbling already. My stomach flip-flops. My legs go wobbly. That’s what happens when you deny yourself the pleasure of a fellow human’s touch for as long as I have.

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