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“You know,” Hayley said, voice low in the quiet. “I’ve been waiting for you to yell at me.”
Dinner had been eaten and cleared quickly, with conversation hovering over all kinds of unimportant topics. Without discussing it, they’d ended up beside each other on the couch, though neither one of them had made a move to turn the TV on.
They should talk about today, about this whole damn week, but Harrison hadn’t found the right words yet.
A writer with no words. He should be ashamed.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m the reason you’re here. I asked for you. They wanted to pass the job off to someone who had more experience writing solo and only agreed to let me stay on if I worked with a co-writer.”
What bullshit.
“You asked for me?”
The crease returned, jagged between her brows. “Is that really so surprising? I wanted to see you again.”
He was lost for words. His heart kicked out of beat, his breathing rushing to catch up. Months of avoiding her, attempting to forget her before he got hurt, only to end up here.
She’d asked for him.
He really was an idiot.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after…”
Hurt flashed across her face. “Was it really that bad?”
He moved closer — was helpless not to — brushing his fingers along her forearm. “If you really believe that, I definitely need to up my game.”
Finally, finally, her brow cleared, one cheek lifting as she smiled. “I can assure you, you don’t.”
When his fingers passed her wrist, she curled her hand around his, and as her gaze fell to his lips, he stilled, waiting for her to follow through.
But she didn’t.
“More wine?” she asked, standing to retrieve the bottle.
And look. Maybe he did judge too quickly. Maybe he buried himself in work too often and overthought probably everything, but he knew interest when it smacked him in the face.
He hadn’tforgottenthat she had wanted him, too. He’d just… been ignoring the fact. Because Harrison didn’t do anything by halves. Once he knew he wanted something, he jumped in. Deep end, fully clothed, whatever.
And he wanted to jump for Hayley.
But he’d never given himself permission to hope that she would want it back.
And now that she might? Well, it would take a better man than Harrison to say no.
38 INT. HOTEL - BATHROOM - NIGHT
Harrison glares at himself in the mirror.
* * *
He was officially a cliché. A staring at the bathroom mirror, giving himself a pep talkcliché.
This was a low point.
After they’d changed, Hayley had decided it was too silent, and now the melodic sounds of love songs filtered in from the other room.
