But the question carries more weight than just our shared morning routine. He's asking what happens when the cameras stop rolling, when there's no set to report to, when this thing that brought us together is suddenly gone.
I straighten up, pulling away from his touch even as every part of me wants to lean into it, to prolong the contact. "Yeah," I manage, the word catching in my throat. "Of course."
But even as I say it, I wonder how many more mornings we have like this, how many more times I'll get to feel the burn in my lungs and the warmth of his presence beside me before it all changes, before everything changes.
"Vince, why the hell wouldn't I run with you anymore?"
He laughs, the sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead in damp tendrils. I notice the faint streaks of silver in his hair, something he hasn't bothered to hide lately, catching the morning light like threads of moonlight. They're more prominent now that he's stopped dying his hair, the early sun angling through the trees to illuminate them. They're like secrets he's stopped keeping, subtle signs of aging that only seem to enhance his features rather than diminish them. The sight of them sends an unexpected pang through my chest.
"Well, nothing's stopping you, but I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to put up with me anymore."
I roll my eyes, unable to hide the smile that tugs at my lips despite the serious turn our conversation has taken. "Vince, quit being a dork. Of course, I'll still run with you. We're not just coworkers on a gig, we're friends."
The words feel both true and inadequate as they leave my mouth, a simplification of something far more complex. I pull my jacket tighter around me as if that could protect my heart from the ridiculous hope swelling in my chest.
His grin spreads across his face like a kid who's just been handed a lollipop, wide and unguarded.
The transformation is remarkable—the usual carefully constructed mask of casual indifference drops away, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath. His eyes, usually guarded with humor, soften at the edges, and I can see the relief washing over him in waves. It's a look I've rarely seen, one that makes my breath catch.
The fact that he's sad about not working with me anymore sends butterflies fluttering through my stomach, a chaotic dance of nerves and excitement.
I wish I could tell him... I'd do anything to spend more time with you. You're my favorite person. The thought is so overwhelming that I have to bite my tongue to keep the words from spilling out. Instead, I focus on the rhythmic slap of our running shoes against the pavement, the steady beat that has become the soundtrack to these early morning encounters.
His presence beside me feels as natural as breathing, and the thought of it ending—even just the professional part—leaves an ache deep in my bones.
"Hey, Andy?"
I turn my head, my breath still coming in short bursts from our run. "Yeah?"
"So... about Villa tonight. Six o'clock. Still on?" He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly looking uncertain.
I meet his eyes, the morning light making them seem darker than usual. "Yeah. I'll be there."
Chapter 19
Am I Interrupting Something?
Andrew
Vincehassetmeup.
I know it the moment I walk into Villa, a beautifully decorated Italian restaurant with a modern flair, and see Vince waiting at a table for four. My steps falter as I approach, my mind racing through every possible scenario.
"Vince," I mutter accusingly, noticing how he's engrossed in his phone.
He looks up, startled. "Hey!" he exclaims, standing quickly and slapping my shoulder in a way that feels too platonic, it makes me want to curl up and die. "Congrats on finishing yourfirst big TV project, Andy. Have a seat, I just ordered us an appetizer."
I slide into the chair directly across from him, my mind still reeling. There's a foolish part of me that has toyed with the fantasy that Vince has brought me here for something entirely different. Maybe he's broken up with Sam, maybe he's about to confess that we're soulmates. Maybe we'll eat a ridiculous amount of overpriced pasta and... spend the night together.
But the reality of the situation is quickly sinking in, and I know I'm wrong. Disappointment churns in my gut, but I bury it.
"Who is us?" I ask, every muscle in my body tensing with dread.
"Right..." Vince hesitates, clearly picking his words carefully. "Well, I wanted to surprise you."
"Vince, don't you dare tell me you invited Ted."
I watch comprehension dawn across his features, the slow recognition of my body language he's usually so quick to read. Panic flashes in his eyes.
