Page 93 of Burn the Script

“Thanks for helping to make this dream possible.”

“Yeah, I’m never working on a film again, not even for you.” She pats my stomach and walks off, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll be asleep in my trailer. Wake me up when you’re ready to leave.”

Shaking my head, I glance at my phone. Maisy changed the home screen background to a selfie of her giving the middle finger. What has me grinning even wider is the notification banner covering her face.

My Darling

YOU DID IT!!!

Congratulations, baby! I’m so fucking proud of you.

My instinct is to respond with a plea or a reminder of what he means to me. Something along the lines of…

I miss you.

I need you.

Can I see you?

I love you.

…but I’ve placed myself on a begging ban.

Me

Thanks. I’m looking forward to my three-day nap.

My Darling

You’ve earned it. I’ll send you some recovery ice cream.

Me

Rum raisin, please.

My Darling

Right when I start to think you’re perfect…

Chuckling, I wander away from the celebrations. I’ve been given a far better reason to celebrate today. Miguel has reached out first, and any step he takes toward our future, no matter how small, deserves my undivided attention.

40

MIGUEL

NOW

Tuesday, March 7th

“You haven’t touched your margarita.” Preston uses his fingers to transfer fried pickles from the shared platter to his own plate. The serving spoon remains untouched.

My elbow rests on the table, chin in my hand. The pub is quiet, aside from the group huddled around the bar, celebrating happy hour too early in the week.

“I’m not in the mood anymore,” I say.

Zephyr delivers a sparkling water, my back-up beverage. He took it upon himself to add cherries. “This should cheer you up.”

I squint at him. “Are you clairvoyant?”