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“Haven’t heard a damn thing since he sent me here. I thought this trip would last a day. Two at most. He had more realistic expectations, I guess.”
Piper crouches down to dig through her open suitcase on the floor.
I swallow the urge to apologize again.
To explain that my team made it damn clear to Empire Records where I stood on signing a new contract and their failure to share that with Piper isn’t my fault.
To remind her that this is an industry that wears away at every boundary you draw, if you manage to hold any to begin with. I’m protecting myself because I’ve learned no one else will do it for me.
I stay silent instead of saying any of that, watching her pull clothes out of her luggage and toss them on the bed.
Piper might have thought she was coming here for one or two days, but she packed for weeks.
“So…is that a no on dinner?”
She sighs. “It’s a yes. On dinner and the bar. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I reply, hiding the bizarre jubilance I’m experiencing. Ishouldn’tcare that she agreed. But obviously, Ido.
I leave her bedroom and head into the bathroom.
The counter next to the sink is now covered with colorful bottles, labeledserumandmoisturizerandexfoliantand a whole bunch of other labels I glance over, instead of just the lone bar of soap that’s usually set out.
I decide Piper is an overpacker, period.
The mess doesn’t really bother me. I’m more relieved she didn’t leave to stay somewhere else, which was what I expected after our argument this morning.
I take a quick shower, scrubbing my skin harshly to finally wash off the sticky sweat, along with the layer of dust and hay seed that clung to it. My muscles are sore, and my body feels drained, but there’s a feeling of satisfaction that goes along with manual labor that I missed while my sole form of exercise was going to the gym.
When I open the bathroom door, Piper is waiting in the hallway. She’s changed into jeans and a tank top—casual attire that shouldn’t affect me the way it does. I tighten the towel around my waist, praying she doesn’t notice. That’s truly the last thing this already-uncomfortable dynamic needs.
“Left my lotion in there,” she says, quickly averting her eyes from my bare chest.
“I’m all set.” I step out of her way, heading toward my bedroom.
“How many pieces?” she calls after me.
“What?”
“I’m heating up the lasagna. How many pieces do you want?”
“Oh. Two, please,” I say before shutting my bedroom door.
The whole thing—sharing a bathroom, about to eat dinner together—feels oddly domestic.
By the time I get dressed and head downstairs, Piper has already heated up two plates of lasagna. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling on her phone.
When I take the chair opposite from her, she sets it aside. Immediately, it starts buzzing. She keeps eating, so I take a bite of my food too.
It continues buzzing.
“You can get that, if you want,” I say, not sure if she’s trying to be polite.
“I don’t need to.” She flips her phone over. “It’s just my roommates. We have a group chat.”
“How many roommates do you have?”
“Two. Serena and Lauren. We all moved in together after college. New York rent is crazy if you’re not…” Her voice trails, cheeks flushing.
