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Momentarily speechless, I battle threatening tears. “That means a lot to me, Easton, really.”

“You mean a lot to me. But I really do love the way you write. That one about the two brothers who got separated for twenty years got me emotional. I wrote some lyrics after I read it.”

“Really?” I ask, my chest exploding. “Will you let me read them?”

“Of course,” he whispers.

“Eight days,” I remind him. “If you’re wondering.”

“I’m counting them. I’m fuckingcounting,” he exhales harshly.

“Me too,” I admit freely, heart swelling.

“Go to sleep,” he orders. “I’ll hang up when you’re dreaming.”

“Okay,” I say as he clicks off his lights and the shadows from the TV begin to dance over his profile. He flicks through the channels as I settle in. Not a minute later, his eyes focus back on mine.

“Night, Beauty,” he murmurs.

“Night, Beast,” I jest, keeping my eyes trained on him until they give out.

The next morning, I wake up to see he never hung up and am granted the perfect view of his face from where he sleeps on his side. His long, black lashes rest over his sculpted cheekbones, his crimson lips slightly parted. The rise and fall of his chest is barely perceptible due to his comatose state. Ache intensifying as I rouse, I watch him far past the point of acceptable, but I can’t help myself one bit.

I’m in love with him.

FORTY-THREE

“Somewhere Only We Know”

Lily Allen

Natalie

2 months later . . .

“He’s Connecticut-bred, so we come from different planets,” Rosie relays, crossing her long, toned legs in the chair opposite my desk. The reason for her impromptu visit the second I flipped on my office light? To report on Dad’s most recent hire, Jonathan, a financial advice columnist who recently claimed the vacant office next to mine. “I conjured one too many daydreams before my gaydar went off. I confirmed it this morning with a social media search. I had to dip way back into his archives for proof. He’s not closeted but doesn’t advertise his sexual orientation, which is cruelly misleading. Needless to say,” she whines, “I’m going back to California broken-hearted.”

I can’t help my laugh. “Rosie, he’s only worked here fortwodays.”

“Exactly, my gaydar betrayed me,” she sighs.

“He’s handsome,” I say, catching sight of Rosie’s current crush as he saunters out of Dad’s office, coffee in hand, “but seems pretty aloof,”

“Ilovealoof. Oh well, plenty of fish, right?” She waves a dismissive hand, her heartbreak lasting as long as it takes her to retrieve a nail file from her tiny Fendi purse. She slowly runs the file along her immaculate manicure while fixing her interrogational stare on me. “Inothernews. You need to spill on the reason for your current daydreams because, girl, you areglowing.”

Panic sets in as I school my expression and shrug. “I’ve been working out a lot.”Truth.

I now havefourabs.

“That smile you’re sporting is not a result of exercise but ratherwhoyou’re working outfor.”

“Nothing to report,” I lie through my teeth as she narrows her eyes, calling bullshit. “I’ve been spending a lot of time outdoors, catching a lot of rays. It’s been good for me.”

“Sure, it’s thesunthat has you floating around this office like you’re living out the best parts of a Jane Austen novel. No,” she dismisses, packing away her file, “there’s a Mr. Darcy hidden somewhere in this, and you know I’ll sniff him out if you don’t come clean. So, out with it. Who is he?”

Her sudden attention on my personal life has my throat closing, but I manage to speak through it in an attempt to thwart her efforts.

“I’m actuallyrelaxingon the weekends now, so yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with the sun.”

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