“Just say it, Meadow.”
“Twilight,” she finally blurts.
My brows shoot up at her confession.
“The sparkly vampire romance?”
She groans and rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Sure. If that’s what you want to reduce it to.”
“I’m kidding,” I say quickly with a laugh. “I’m not judging you. How could I? That book has a cult following.”
“Because it’s awesome,” she defends, leaning forward now. “And not just because of the hot vampires, okay?”
Hot vampires.
Great.
My competition is now fictional, immortal vampires. Comforting.
I lift my hands in surrender. “I’m all ears.”
She draws in a breath, preparing to go full fangirl.
“It’s about wanting something you’re not supposed to have. About feeling ordinary and still being chosen,” she shrugs sheepishly. “And about a love that feels… overwhelming. All-consuming. Like even though it could ruin your life, you still go for it despite the consequences.”
I nod my head, fully invested in her explanation.
“And yes, I know it’s dramatic and over the top,” she adds quickly, flashing a crooked smile, “but it’s also safe and cozy. I find myself re-reading it when I really need an escape. It’s a comfort read for me,” she stops and thinks, lifting her chin slightly. “So you know what? Hell yeah to sparkly vampires. I’ve got zero shame.”
I click my tongue, equal parts amused and impressed.
“That actually makes a lot of sense.”
Her brows knit together. “It does?”
“Yeah,” I answer with a smug grin. “You’re just like Bella, a feelings person pretending not to be. You’re a tough shell to crack, but underneath it all, you just want to be swept off your feet by a ‘hot vampire’.”
I tilt my head, looking her straight in the eyes. “Admit it, Meadow. You’re a softie deep down.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair.
“Rude,” she says sarcastically, knowing I’m spot on. “And how do you know so much about Bella?”
I feign outrage like she’s offended me. “I’ve watched the movies. What, did you think I’ve been living under a rock?”
As Meadow parts her lips to respond, Keisha returns with our drinks, carefully setting them in front of us. Meadow reaches for her glass, her eyes never leaving mine as she takes a long, slow sip.
There’s something undeniably intimate about the way she looks at me over the rim… quiet, unguarded, like the rest of the world has fallen away.
After we thank Keisha and she disappears back into the mix of tables, I lift my own glass and take a drink, savoring the burn of rum as it slides down my throat.
“Shit,” I say after another taste. “That’s damn good.”
“Right?” Meadow hums, lifting her glass in agreement.
A beat of silence passes between us before I decide to ask Meadow a question I’ve wanted to know for a while.
“Speaking of books and writing,” I start, more serious now. “You’re incredible at it. The stuff you do for the company…. It’s insane. Have you always wanted to write sports? Or did you ever picture something else?”
