Page 108 of The Rom-Commers

“The point is, I was standing right there.”

This seemed like such an odd thing to be irritated about. “Look,” I said, “I’m just hoping you don’t fire me before we finish rewriting the script that you keep insisting doesn’t matter.”

Charlie frowned at that.

“We’re done next week, anyway,” I said then.

“You think we’re done next week and then we’re… just done?”

“Of course,” I said.

“How could you think that?”

“Well,” I said, “for one thing, I overheard you in the bathroom.”

Charlie frowned. “Whatever that means, it can’t be good.”

“Back on the first day—at brunch with Logan. Through that weird lava-rock sink basin. You said this screenplay was doomed from the start. I know what happens once we’re done here. You give the new version to the mistress, she green-lights your Mafia thing, the world adds one more movie with seventies mobsters in tan bell-bottoms to the pantheon, and I take the express train back to obscurity.”

Charlie frowned, like he wasn’t sure which part of all that to object to. Finally, he said, “You heard that—but you stayed, anyway?”

“Yes.”

“But—why?”

I shrugged. There was no other answer. “Because I just—love you.”

Oh, god! That came out wrong!

“Notyou!” I corrected fast, my voice pitching up with panic. “Notyou—likeyouyou.Youmeaningyour writing. You—like what youdo. Your work. Stories! Your genius. Notyou! Obviously! Of course!” And right about here, I gave up and let my voice drop into a sigh of defeat. “You know what I mean.”

“I get it,” Charlie said. “Don’t worry.”

“Also,” I added, just to shift topics, “I was hoping I could change your mind.”

“About what?”

Um—about all of it! Hope! Love! Human kindness!“About rom-coms,” I said.

Charlie didn’t respond to that. Just kept walking. Our feet were exactly in sync now, tapping the asphalt at the exact same time, and Charlie’s place was in sight. But next, before we reached the house, Charlie said something so odd, I’d wind up thinking about it for days.

Charlie said, apropos of nothing, “I heard what Donna Cole asked you, by the way.”

“What Donna Cole asked me?”

“Right at the end. When she asked if I was in love with you.”

“Ah. Yes. That was awkward.”

“Don’t worry. It means she liked you.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It was on purpose. She was making the whole table curious about you. Making you a person of interest. Turning you into a bit of a mystery to solve.”

“Huh,” I said.

“She was doing you a favor. Status-wise.”

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