Page 57 of Not Just Gal Pals

“Yeah, it really is. I was worried it was going to be the nail in my influencing-career coffin for a hot second.”

I shook my head. “It still amazes me that one person can make a baseless allegation and you could lose your whole career over it.”

Jenny looked down at her cider. “Yeah. Look, I definitely think cancel culture has its place, but it can be very unpredictable, and the consequences aren’t always very proportional. People can lose their livelihood over genuine mistakes, while some rich, famous, white guy who has sexually harassed a number of women can avoid censor or bounce back quickly. And, unlike in court, your accusers can inflict damage without needing to prove anything beyond reasonable doubt or provide any evidence at all. Don’t get me wrong. I think most who are canceled probably deserve it, but there is scope for mistakes to be made.”

Jenny’s smile faded completely. Keen to change the topic, I threw my empty cup into the trash can nearby. “Should we keep browsing? Maybe we’ll find something to hang in my practice’s waiting room as well.”

“Well, there’s always my surrealistic masterpiece. Surprisingly, neither MOMA nor Dia Beacon have snapped it up yet, so it’s still available.” Jenny grinned, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it.

“Oh, what?” I feigned surprise. “Surely they could get rid of a few Dalis or Warhols to make room for your pièce de résistance?”

Jenny laughed, and my heart felt full to exploding.

This. Joking around but also being able to discuss things that mattered. Being together in public, holding hands. This was really nice.

I squeezed her hand back as we walked toward the booths.

To my delight, she didn’t let go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BLAKE

“That looks great!” Jenny exclaimed as we stood back and admired our handiwork.

The four prints we’d bought at the holiday market hung on the walls of my living room. I had to admit, it made a world of difference to the room. It now felt warm, lived in. Like a home.

“It really does. Thanks, babe.” I wrapped my arm around Jenny and pulled her to me, and then I realized what I’d just said.

I froze. Babe?

“Babe” was what I’d called Grace, probably around the six-month mark. It was a term I associated with serious relationships, a term I associated with Grace, with Anna, with Hanh. A term I hadn’t used since Grace. But it had just fallen out of my mouth so naturally.

In some ways, it wasn’t surprising. The last few weeks, we’d spent so much time together it felt like our relationship was on fast-forward. I mean, Jenny had already peed with the door open, chatting to me as she did. And the fact we’d grown up together, even if we hadn’t been close, gave us this shared foundation, a shared understanding. It felt, in a good way, like we’d already been dating six months, perhaps even more. Although...was it good? By the time January came around, would Jenny’s departure feel more like the dissolution of a twelve-month relationship rather than a two-and-a-half-month one? Surely that would make it more painful.

“What were you thinking for dinner?” Jenny asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“I thought I could make a roast chicken with vegetables. Are you okay with that?” When I’d been brainstorming simple dinners I could make for Jenny with George, roast chicken had sounded relatively foolproof—and a lot healthier than the takeout we’d been sticking to for safety after the pancake incident.

“Why don’t we make it together?” Jenny suggested, a little too adamantly. Not that I could blame her.

Ten minutes later, supporting my theory that Jenny’s company made everything better, I was actually enjoying being back in the kitchen. I liked chatting while I rhythmically chopped potatoes, butternut squash, and fennel to roast. Once finished, I tossed the vegetables with olive oil and thyme and seasoned them. When I turned around, Jenny was bending over and shoving an entire lemon into the chicken’s cavity. The fact I found that image kind of hot said something about just how into Jenny I was right now.

“Done!” Jenny said triumphantly, a lock of blond hair falling over her face as she stood.

She brushed the hair away with the back of her hand—the only part of her hand that wasn’t covered in raw chicken—but it immediately fell again.

I stepped over to her, reaching my hand out. “Here, let me do it.”

I gently swept the hair back behind her ear, tracing my fingertips over her cheek, our eyes locking in the process. A small thrill dashed down my spine as we bit our lower lip in unison. Grabbing her waist with both hands, I pulled her in for a kiss, sending a surge of electricity pulsing through me. The physical side of our dating still felt white-hot in its intensity. I couldn’t get enough.

But this time, something didn’t feel quite right. Jenny’s lips were telling me she was into this kiss, but the rest of her body...not so much. She felt stiff, restrained. My stomach dipped. Was something wrong?

I pulled back. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Jenny’s face broke into a grin, and relief washed over me, settling my stomach.

“Yes. But my hands were just up the butt of a raw chicken, so I’m just trying to avoid touching you. Although, of course I want to touch you, which is driving me a little wild.”