Page 105 of The Rom-Commers

Donna Cole looked at me, likeInteresting. Then she scooted over at the banquette and patted the seat next to her. “Join us.”

“Nope,” Charlie said, clamping me tighter. “She’s mine today. But Logan Scott can set you up.”

Donna Cole squinted in approval. “Good to know.”

“Anyway,” Charlie said, looking around the table. “Great to see all of you.”

And then a funny thing happened: T.J. stood up, clearly wanting to emphasize his only-other-bro-in-the-group status, and leaned across the table in a burst for a fist bump—but he lost his balance and it turned into something Charlie had to dodge.

As the fist flailed toward his face, Charlie jerked away to the side and wound up smacking his forehead into my cheekbone.

Not that hard. But, yes—it hurt.

I made some kind ofohnoise and dropped my face to my hands as Charlie turned toward me.

“Whoa—whoa—whoa—are you okay?”

Charlie was peering in now, touching at my hands, nudging them to move so he could get a better look.

“I’m fine,” I said, head down. “It’s fine.”

“Show me,” Charlie said, his voice soft, like there was no one else there.

I let him move my hands away so he could get in close for an inspection as T.J., who had just jostled and spilled every coffee on thetable, went around apologizing and mopping up the table with paper napkins.

When the crisis was over, Charlie made his next and final move. He took my screenplay out of my hand and tucked it under his arm possessively, like it was something precious and thrilling and intended for him only—and he’d been waiting in agonized anticipation all day to get his hands on it.

Next, he pointed at me with impatience: “Did you say that quick thing you wanted to say?”

The question was like telepathy. I got exactly what Charlie was telling me. It was, I suddenly knew,notokay to hand Donna Cole a script out of nowhere, but it was fully okay—extremely okay, in fact—to tell her that you loved her work. Later, I’d thank Charlie a hundred times for helping me find my voice in that moment.

Of course, of course: it made so much sense.

Your first meeting with someone should never be anask. It should be agive.

There wasn’t much I could give Donna Cole but admiration. But I genuinely had that in spades. I met her eyes. “I just wanted to say that I’m a wild, adoring fan of your work.” Then I added, “The peanut butter sandwich scene inThe Loversis the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I was right. Donna smiled at that. Her first real, non-Charlie-related smile this whole time.

And then, as Charlie started to steer us away, Donna put her hand on my arm. “Stay behind for one quick second?”

I looked at Charlie, likeDo you mind?

And he nodded, likeGo ahead.Then he glanced over toward my table and said, “I’ll be waiting over there.”

Take that, Hollywood.I was someone Charlie Yates would wait for.

Donna Cole waited until Charlie was out of earshot. And then she said, “Quick question.”

I nodded. “Of course. Anything.”

Then she tilted her head and said, “Is Charlie Yates in love with you?”

“What?!”

Donna Cole just watched me, likeWe both just saw the way he touched your cheekbone,and waited.

“No!” I finally said. “We’re just—just—writing colleagues. Doing—writing stuff together.”

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