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Now she was playing dirty.
Harrison splayed his legs a little wider, celebrating when her eyes darted down to admire him. He decided to stoke the fire. “Care to test that theory?”
His relief was palpable when she rolled her eyes and turned back to the dialogue they’d been arguing over. Good. He didn’t need Hayley and her clever eyes looking too closely. His heart was raw already. And despite what she likely thought, he did have one. Battered and bruised, stuffed in a box in a drawer under a blanket in the basement of his soul, perhaps, but it existed.
Let her keep her image of him as a jaded writer who couldn’t see the merit in whispered promises or rose-colored futures. Because the truth — the embarrassing, unavoidable truth — would mean admitting that he’d once bought all of it, every last lie, wanted it, dreamed it, craved it for himself, until he realized how futile the search was.
How easily he could fake those promises in his writing.
And Hayley wondered why he had a problem with romance movies.
* * *
When Hayley suggested getting tea, he was… well, he wasn’t afraid. That would be ridiculous. He was simply… concerned. For the script. Because he hadn’t contributed much.
“Whose fault is that?” Hayley mocked.
It had nothing at all to do with a certain coffee shop and his newfound fear of meet-cutes.
“Fine, oh precious one. Would you like me to come with you?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to lob the tease back at her, remembering very clearly the last time they had come together. He wished his body didn’t remember it so well, actually. He hadn’t been able to picture anything — scratch that, anyone — while coming since.
“You did say you needed some inspiration. And I could use the fresh air. I guess I could go with you if you wanted.”
“If I wanted,” she drawled.
“See how chivalrous I am?”
He really wished he could bottle that spark inside her. A potent combination of narrowed eyes, one-sided smile, and something undeniably Hayley.
And how was he supposed to resist that?
He was only a man, after all.
* * *
Small community gardens were hidden all over Chance City, he’d heard, down alleyways and behind office blocks. Walk ten minutes in any direction, and one would appear. It only took a little time and knowing where to look.
Reminders of the upcoming Valentine’s festival flashed him at every turn — hearts in windows, pinker than aGreasesing-a-long, flowers and chocolates and music.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hayley asked after stopping to watch a group of teenagers posing and taking selfies in front of a mural of rainbow-colored graffiti hearts. “My mother would love this.”
He’d seen her at events, parties, premieres — work commitments that had put him in her vicinity — but never long enough to see her like this: private, unguarded.
It was as if someone had turned her happiness up to eleven. She was radiant. What would it be like to harbor so much joy?
Harrison wasn’t unfeeling. He liked dating, though he hadn’t done it in a while, and he loved sex. But he’d never met anyone who inspired anything incredible in him. The way the movies made people believe they could.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Did your parents end up taking that trip to Scotland?”
“No, my mother wasn’t able to fly in the end. But her cousin came down after the funeral, brought some of my grandfather’s belongings to pass on. They spent a week getting sauced and reminiscing. Called me every day at eleven p.m. with a new story.”
“Sounds like a fun time.”
Their arms brushed. “Oh, she’d love you. She’s always begging me to bring someone home.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by.”
