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She snickers, relaxing. “Not in the slightest. It’s probably a bunch of old fishing poles and fifty-year-old musky tackle.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. I’ll be sure to take my pickup when I go. So anyway, we were talking about you,” she says.
“Were we?”
“Maybe not out loud, but you were definitely thinking about Craig again. Your expression went all sour and we’ve listened to this album twice through now.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I almost got a tattoo with Miranda?”
Maren’s eyes grow huge. “No!”
“We chickened out. We were drunk as two skunks andwanted to get matching Loretta Lynn quotes. Blake found out and intervened.”
“No shit. What was the quote?”
“Turns out it was a Dolly quote, so props to Blake, because that would have been an expensive PR nightmare.”
Maren laughs her musical laugh and rests her head against the back of her chair, turning her face toward me. “You gonna be okay, Jones?”
“Always am.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.” I sigh. “Yeah, I will be. I need to talk to Huck and tell him how I feel. Obviously. Which scares the ever-living shit out of me because I only ever told one man I loved him and he broke my heart. And somehow this feels even more scary, because as much as I thought I loved Drake, I was wrong. I didn’t love him. I barely liked him once the dust settled. But I’m head over ass for Huckleberry and he could crush me.”
“He won’t crush you.”
“But he could,” I insist softly.
“He won’t, though.”
“We’ll see.”
The next morning, I leave Maren sleeping off a wine hangover and head into the studio early.
“Lorelai!” Arlo raises his head with a start. There is music pumping out the speakers of his work laptop and two empty cardboard coffee cups and a half-eaten muffin beside him on the desk. “I didn’t realize you were coming in.”
“No appointment.”
“Craig’s still out, I’m afraid. I’m only in because our surrogate Jessica is due literally any minute and I’m freaking the fuck out. Josh sent me to work, saying I was giving him heart palpitations with my pacing.”
“I figured. Hoped, actually. I’m here to see you—if you can keep a secret from your boss, that is.”
Arlo’s expression brightens beneath his fedora. “I love secrets. Go on.”
“I hoped you might say that.” I take a deep breath and plop down across the desk from him and pull a piece of paper out of my scratched-to-hell notebook, something I’d worked on late into the early morning. “So here’s what I’m thinking, and I’m in a bit of a crunch…”
31LORELAI
NOT READY TO MAKE NICE
I wake up in a swanky hotel room that I barely get to enjoy, thanks to the ungodly time I have to wake up for my interview withThe Good Morning Show—3:30A.M.Honestly, they could have put me up in a Motel 6 for the amount of sleep and the accommodations I don’t get. I meet Trina and our driver in the lobby at 4:00A.M.,and she passes me a very tall, very hot coffee. The roads are full, either from people who are still awake or, like us, just getting started. Neon lights flash past my eyes, but I’m left to sip my coffee and absorb the caffeine into my bloodstream in silence. Trina is already typing away on her phone, though I can’t imagine to whom, until she releases a soft sigh and drops her phone into her handbag. “My wife. I’ve spoiled her. She doesn’t like alarm clocks, and since I’m an early riser by nature, I always wake her up with coffee and a kiss. You got the coffee, she gets the long-distance kiss.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t even imagine a worldwhere Trina would be so sweet. A ballbuster who gets shit done, sure. But sweet?
Instead, I take another sip of my coffee and say thank you.
