Page 21 of Not My Love Story

“Me, too.”

* * *

After ten minutes of tapping, Harrison was ready to take it back.

Hayley had been staring at the third act, her tea cold, and her pen keeping time. She had something on her mind, and as much as Harrison wanted to leave her to her creative process, it was getting to him.

Then it stopped.

“I think we need to change the climax. You were right; it’s too idyllic.”

Harrison looked up in surprise. Monday, she’d fought against changing it. “What about what the audience wants? I thought you said —”

“I know, and there’ll need to be a sense of grandeur. But I keep thinking about what you said yesterday, and you’re right. Love isn’t solely about the big moments. What is it that really makes us fall for someone? It’s the little things, the way they listen and take care of you, when they support you without needing to change who you are. I want to show that.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. She had no reason to placate him, yet here she was, going out of her way to change the script.

Because of him.

“Okay.” He swallowed. “But if we’re going to do this, I don’t want to sell a lie.”

“We won’t. I promise you that, Harry. I want to write a love story that isn’t a dream. I want it to be hopeful. Sweet. Maybe a little sexy.” She reached over, her palm warm on his wrist. She stroked a comforting line into his skin with her thumb. “I want something real.”

Her eyes were imploring. He wanted to get lost in them.

“It’s okay for you to want it too, Harry.”

Fuck.

She was hope, heaven, like a fucking goldmine at the end of a rainbow, and Harrison did want, more than anything. But the sharp, jagged edges of his humor weren’t all for show. He really was curt and pessimistic and ready to rage at every piece of the world that was broken and overlooked while people posted clickbait headlines and fretted over egos. His heart wanted, but it was covered in thorns. And Hayley was bound to get cut in the process. He wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t be the asshole who disappointed her.

He couldn’t offer her anything close to what she deserved, so why torture himself? It had been hard enough trying to forget her the first time. He needed to stop messing around and focus on the work.

So he turned away, digging his fingernails into his palms and hating again that life was nothing like the movies.

26 INT. HOTEL — MEETING ROOM — DAY

Harrison and Hayley are sitting directly across from each other, eyes locked, neither willing to concede.

* * *

“No. I’ve already agreed to the last-minute chase down, but a public declaration? It’s not realistic.” On that point, he was determined. He wanted his dignity intact after this was released.

Hayley slow blinked, her nostrils flaring. “It’s supposed to be aspirational.”

“Fine, but don’t expect me to help.”

“Oh, I’m not expectinganythingfrom you, Harry.”

Being this close to her was lighting up all his danger signs.

Worse than that, there was no space to move in this damn room, no way to keep his distance. He had kicked the table at least four separate times trying to move out of her way. His shin was in agony.

Hayley had gotten quieter as the day progressed, shooting him glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, her shoulders set high and tight. The marks on her pen where she chewed becoming more numerous as time passed, even after he’d risked a visit back to the coffee shop of doom and returned with tea and cake.

Despite that, the script was actually coming together. The wall was now littered with notes, a bright mosaic he’d started wistfully staring at in order to avoid looking across the table.

And still, Hayley’s frown deepened.

---