Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I was a little worried that Ellie might inadvertently see something online about me being replaced as the host of Hot Mess, but I’d gotten lucky there.
Now if that luck would just hold out—if I could remember all the things I wanted to say, if I could convince her that she meant more to me than any career move, if I could persuade her to give me the chance to make her happy . . . I’d feel richer than any Hollywood money could have made me.
But first, she was probably going to want to punch me in the face.
TWENTY-FOUR
ELLIE
I pulled into the parking lot of Gianni’s apartment complex a few minutes before ten. I thought I remembered his unit being over toward the left, so I headed over to that side and looked for a spot.
I snagged one labeled Visitor, put my car in park, and texted him that I’d arrived. He replied right away.
Hey. My flight is delayed an hour. Want to come in?
I groaned. The last thing I wanted to do was spend more time with him. But what choice did I have?
Fine. Which one is yours again?
It’s the last one in the building to the right of the circle drive.
Oh. For some reason, I thought you were on the left.
Nope. On the right.
I moved the car to the other side of the circle drive and found another Visitor spot. As I walked toward his door, I looked around in confusion. This was not how I remembered it. I could have sworn he was in a middle unit over on the other side. But maybe I was recalling it wrong—it had been snowing hard, and I’d been distracted that night for sure.
I knocked on the last door on the right, and he pulled it open. “Hi,” he said, and as always, I found myself slightly out of breath at the sight of him—the combination of those blue eyes and that dark hair always got to me.
And that mouth . . . would I ever forget the way he kissed me?
“Hi,” I said. Then I noticed what he was wearing. “You’re flying to L.A. in your Pineview Motel sweatshirt?”
He glanced down and chuckled. “It’s my favorite. I’m hoping it brings me luck—like your hedgehog socks.”
“Right.” My eyes traveled over his shoulders and chest, remembering the day he’d bought those shirts for us and how we’d spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Come in,” he said, pulling the door wider and stepping back.
I entered his apartment, and the first thing I noticed was that the layout was different. The living room was on the wrong side. And there was a staircase ahead of me—that was weird. “Did you move or something?” I asked as he shut the door behind me.
“Yes.”
“No wonder.” I glanced around. “I thought I was—” Then I gasped. Chills blanketed my skin. “Oh my God.”
On the wall to my right were blown-up photographs of Gianni and me—at least a dozen of them of just the two of us, ranging in age from five or six through high school graduation.
In a daze, I moved closer to them, putting a hand over my mouth. My pulse was hammering. “What is this, Gianni?”
He came to stand at my side. “This is us,” he said quietly as my eyes took in each picture.
The first day of school. Standing side by side at our First Communions. Sticky with sunscreen and covered in sand at the beach. Building a snowman in the Lupos’ backyard. Sitting side by side drinking hot chocolate afterward. Awkward with braces (me) and shaggy hair that needed a trim (him) before a middle school dance. His arms around me at high school graduation.
“But—but why?” My voice trembled.
“When I asked you, ‘what about us,’ you said, ‘There is no us. There’s never been an us.’ I wanted to show you it wasn’t true. That there’s always been an us.” He took me gently by the shoulders and turned me to face him. “I’m not going to California, Ellie.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because my job is here. My life is here. My family is here,” he said, and I recognized my words from the day I’d refused his offer to move to Hollywood with him. “You’re here. I want to be where you are.”
“You do?” Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes. Even before you told me you were pregnant, I could not stop thinking about you. Something about leaving wasn’t sitting right with me, and I didn’t know what it was—but I knew that I was going to miss you and Etoile and working together. I was just too stubborn to admit it. And I was worried you’d laugh at me for thinking there could be more between us.”
“But what about those things you said at the motel? About never wanting to sit still or settle down? About being bored with one person and craving the rush of a new thing? I thought you wanted to go wherever life took you.”