Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(42)

“I do,” Iris said, heading down the hall. “Just let me change really quickly.”

Stevie nodded and perused Iris’s bookshelves, finding many of her favorites among the rainbow.

“Want a drink?” Iris said, coming back into the living and kitchen area wearing tight yoga pants and a fitted green tee, the color making her eyes look like emeralds. Her hair was still damp, drying in varying curly and wavy patterns.

“Um, water, if that’s cool,” Stevie said.

Iris’s hand froze on a wine bottle.

“You can drink,” Stevie said quickly. “I just shouldn’t on my meds.”

Iris nodded and put back the bottle. “No problem, sweetums. I’ve got seltzer.”

Stevie laughed and shook her head as Iris dug into the fridge and came out with two cans of LaCroix, handing one to Stevie as she headed for the pantry. She grabbed a giant bag of white cheddar popcorn and nodded toward her red sofa.

“Okay, so,” she said, plopping onto the couch and turning on her TV. “We’ve got all the basic streaming choices available. The question is, which romantic comedy is the most romantic?”

Stevie settled in the opposite corner and popped open her drink. “Hands down, Serendipity.”

Iris laughed. “Oh my god, a John Cusack fan?”

Stevie shrugged and hid her blushing cheeks behind the cool can. “I mean, he’s not my type at all, but I love the fate aspect of it.”

“Ah. Kate Beckinsale, then.”

Stevie grinned. “Like any self-respecting sapphic our age, Kate was part of my formative experience. I saw that movie for the first time when I was, like, eleven, and . . . yeah. I found her pretty.”

Iris smiled. “For me, it was Blue Crush.”

“Which girl?”

“All of them?”

Stevie laughed. “You’re bi, right?”

Iris nodded. “I guess that’s important information for my fake girlfriend to know.”

“It is.”

They smiled at each other for a few seconds, and then Iris found Serendipity and started the stream. She ripped open the bag of popcorn as John and Kate grabbed for the same glove during Christmastime in Bloomingdale’s, and Stevie had to scoot closer to get a handful.

“I love New York,” Iris said as the actors ice-skated through Central Park.

“Have you gone there a lot?” Stevie asked.

Iris shrugged. “A few times, with my friend Claire and her . . .” She took a deep breath. “Her fiancée. Wow. First time I’ve said that out loud.”

Stevie tilted her head. “Yeah?”

Iris nodded but her eyes went a little shiny and she waved a hand through the air. “Anyway, New York is . . . I don’t know. It’s the only place I’ve ever been that felt exactly like I expected it to, exactly like every story and movie and poem about it. Like magic and realism all twisted up together.”

“Wow,” Stevie said, smiling softly at Iris. “You are a writer.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Iris said, but she smiled back. Still, a certain longing rose up in Stevie’s chest as New York unfolded on the screen before her. The city had always been mythical to her, a theatrical utopia, but unattainable, an ethereal monster capable of swallowing Stevie whole, no matter how much Ren believed that’s where Stevie was meant to be. Despite all that, Iris’s poetic—if brief—endorsement was enough to spark something in the center of Stevie’s chest.

But she’d gotten really good at ignoring those kinds of sparks over the years, so that’s exactly what she did now, taking in the movie, that spark itself, like she would a fantasy novel or film. It was breathtaking, beautiful, but at the end of the day, an impossibility.

“My best friend Astrid?” Iris said after a while, John running rampant through New York with Jeremy Piven, searching for clues and signs. “She and her girlfriend, Jordan, are pretty big on fate.” Then Iris told Stevie all about how Jordan drew a Two of Cups tarot card for months, and Astrid drew the same one after they’d sort of broken up.

“Astrid wooed her back with, like, twenty Two of Cups cards strewn all over the Everwood Inn.”

“God, that’s romantic,” Stevie said.

“True,” Iris said. “But not as romantic as getting puked on by a one-night stand and then fake dating them.”

Stevie laughed. “Jesus, what a story.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever think of that night without cringing, but at least it was becoming a sort of joke between them.

Iris tilted her head, eyes on Stevie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Stevie said slowly. That question hardly ever preceded an easy answer.

“Why were you so nervous to sleep with me? Was it your anxiety, or . . .”

Yep, yep, Stevie was right. Definitely not an easy answer. “Oh. Um . . . well . . .”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Iris said.

“No, it’s okay,” Stevie said. If they were going to do this fake dating thing, it was probably best if Iris knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

“I don’t do that a lot,” Stevie said. “Sleep with strangers. And by a lot, I mean ever.”

Iris’s brows lifted. “Like . . . never?”