Page 42 of Not My Love Story

“Yes, dear.”

The problem with drowsy medication, it turned out, was how effective it was. Within minutes, Hayley could barely keep her eyes open, but she fought through the exhaustion.

“And we should use your idea of the, um, the thing, at the end, because that was a good idea. Which you’re full of. Do you know I haven’t felt this engaged in my work in years? That’s why I wanted you. Well,” the word was lost in a long yawn. “And because I wanted to see you again. I missed you.”

It was a good thing her eyes were closed, because Harrison was fairly certain his heart was beating on the outside of his chest. If he gave it a pen, he was sure it would be writing their initials on itself and circling them.

“Don’t disappear this time, okay?” she murmured.

With a lapful of sleeping beauty, Harrison abandoned the script, pushing their notes to the side so he could wrap the blanket more comfortably around Hayley’s shoulders.

He wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time.

He sat in silence, enjoying her steady weight against him, the rhythm of her breathing. Baby hairs were plastered to her forehead, her skin still holding a faint clamminess, and he brushed them back. Would she be too warm like this? Maybe he should move her to the bed. That had to be more comfortable than sleeping on him.

His phone beeped loudly, signaling a message, and he silenced it before reading. Emilia was checking in on Hayley. With one arm still trapped around her shoulders, he took a selfie of the two of them curled up on the couch and sent it back to his sister. Her response was a series of hearts.

It was hard to take a full breath. His lungs squeezed like he’d eaten too much, and his heart was too big for his chest. Maybe he had indigestion. Maybe it was a heart attack.

It would be just his luck for his heart to give out on him just as he was finally using it.

Every once in a while, Hayley stirred, murmuring quietly in her sleep, while Harrison continued to run his fingers through her hair. She really was beautiful. It didn’t matter that her nose was puffy and red, the blocked airways making her snore a little. It wouldn’t even matter if she looked nothing like she did. Yes, he was physically attracted to her, sometimes so much it amazed him that he’d managed to get any work done this week, but fuck, it was so much more than that.

He’d meant what he said to Emilia. When he pictured the future, this was what he wanted.

As the realization hit home, he stilled. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe for the force of it. The weight of knowing that for the rest of his life, he would love her. This incredible human who could walk away, hurt, judge, scorn, disappoint, lie.

He could imagine just about anything, but the idea of Hayley — someone so genuine, so dedicated — being malicious… it was unfathomable.

Loving Emilia had always been easy. Loving his job, his writing, was natural. Like waking up, or blinking.

Loving Hayley felt inevitable. Like a purpose. Not to be wasted or treated lightly. But worked toward, reclaimed through action every day.

As often as he could.

* * *

Hayley barely stirred when he moved her to the bedroom and tucked her under the sheets. He made sure everything she might need was within reach. Their clothes still littered the floor from last night. Even the sight of them brought back every touch. As he picked up his pants, the flower she’d adorned him with fell to the floor. Had it really only been a day since then?

Everything about this week had been surreal, like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

But he would wake up. That was how reality worked. Happily ever afters only occurred in fiction because life didn’t end after “I love you.” Real life was messy and complicated and wonderful.

And god help him, he wanted it all. But what did Hayley want? What would be waiting for them once this week — and whatever strange spell they were under — was over? And it would be over. He couldn’t expect anything more. Not without serving his heart up on a platter.

With a gentle kiss to her forehead, he placed the flower by her bedside before closing the door.

46 INT. HOTEL — LOUNGE - NIGHT

* * *

Harrison scrubbed both hands down his face. He could do this.

With his notes spread out on the floor, he opened their current draft. They’d alternated scenes, and while they’d outlined everything, they had argued over the final moments. Hayley wanted what she referred to as the big “break up and chase down” moment. Harrison had rallied for something a little less over the top.

Now, his fingers poised above the keys, he had a choice to make. Write his version and risk Hayley being mad tomorrow. Or write hers. Somehow. Was he even capable of creating a “chase down” without it coming across as completely saccharine and uninspired?

Why had he ever thought writing romance was easy?

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