“Okay, I’ll take you up on that, but only because I can’t remember my own name anymore.” Chris blinked hard. “What did you want to talk about anyway?”
“I was feeling a little…” Dash did not finish the sentence with the words that immediately rang true: anxious, wound-up, restless. Instead, he cut to the chase. “Long story, but my hungover tenant needed help.”
“Right.” Chris scratched at his beard. “Do you need a meeting?”
“Maybe.” Dash pursed his lips.
“Make time for one.” Luna fussed slightly on Chris’s arm. Chris eyed her, then looked back at the phone. “I better go.”
“See ya,” Dash said, then hung up.
He stared at the blank screen for a beat, then pocketed his phone. He got off the couch and went to the window that looked out at the lawn and Sophie’s bungalow. Her door was closed. He didn’t see her outside. She was likely fine. Still, his gaze lingered on the arched window next to her door—identical to his own—and he wondered what she was doing.
SOPHIE’S TIKTOK
Name: Sophie Lyon
Occupation: Writer （？？？）
Weeks until next book is due: 6
“I’ve never been in love, okay?! Love isn’t real!” Sophie had queued up the clip from her unintentionally viral video, then it cut to her in the living room, where she sat on the couch. A response video, just as Dash had suggested.
She fixed the curtain bangs around her face and took a deep breath in. “Well, that was me, and it’s pretty embarrassing. But yeah, I’ve never been in love. Which is maybe a little weird, considering I’m a romance author. And as you can see, I’m not afraid to spill my emotions after a few drinks, but I’ve never experienced the feeling of actually falling for someone so…”
Sophie cleared her throat. “Anyway, a friend of mine told me I should explain my side of the story. And I think he’s right.”
She leaned closer to the camera. “We’ve all had a bad day. And that—that video—was one of my very worst days. I’m going to be totally honest with you: I am on the verge of losing just about everything I’ve worked for. I have writer’s block, and my next book is due in six weeks. It’s been two long years, and I can’t figure out the ending. I’m a total fraud, and once my contract is up I will have to accept the fact that maybe I’m not a writer, after all.”
Her lower lip wobbled at the sad realization that she’d been so close to achieving her dreams but hadn’t been able to keep the momentum of being a full-time writer going. She eyed the ceiling, blinked away the impending tears, then looked back to camera. “But I’m still a hopeless romantic. Like, I believe there’s someone out there for me. And there have been relationships in my life where I really, really thought I was going to fall in love. But something keeps me from saying the words. So what’s my problem? I don’t know. But I want to find my person, and maybe the answer is that I’m the problem, not my exes.”
Her knee started to nervously bounce, and she placed a hand on top to still it. “Would it be weird to go back and ask my exes what went wrong? I mean, there could be something they noticed that I never did. And maybe if I figure out why I can’t say those three magical words, I’ll find a way back to writing a happily-ever-after for my characters.” Sophie’s tone lifted as the words began to feel true. Maybe this whole thing could work. Perhaps all she needed was a little self-exploration to get to the root of her issue. “Tell me what you think in the Comments.”
She stopped the recording, then hit Next, chose a thumbnail, wrote a caption—I’m the romance author who’s never been in love ??—added some writerly hashtags, per Dash’s suggestion, and hit Publish. The video had an option to post to her Instagram page, and if she was going to put herself out there, she might as well go all in—so she published it there, too.
She fell back into the plush couch cushions, tapped her phone against her thigh, and wondered, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing.
3
SOPHIE
“Hey, you okay?”
Sophie almost didn’t register her sister’s concerned voice over the loud hum of paparazzi shouting at them, but she still managed to mouth a yes.
“Nina, one more photo!”
“Nina, where’s Leo? Trouble in paradise?”
“Nina, any details on the final episode of Second Chance Kitchen?”
Sophie kept her eyes trained on the entrance to Craig’s as they walked. She was keenly aware that the photographers didn’t want a photo of her, and after her brush with TikTok fame, she’d had her fill of being a news item. But Nina stopped and gave a quick smile for the cameras. Her sister had, of course, planned this breakfast excursion. Craig’s was strategically frequented by celebs who wanted to have a photo opportunity with the line of paparazzi who waited outside and then enjoy a meal at the discreet and private restaurant. Nina was a celebrity chef, and the season-two finale of her latest cooking show, Second Chance Kitchen, was about to air. As Nina liked to say, the more press the better.
Sophie got to the door and pulled it open just as a paparazzo’s voice sailed over the crowd.
“Nina, is that a baby bump?”
Sophie’s eyes darted to Nina, whose jaw went tight. She didn’t wish bad things to happen to other people very often, but whatever jerk had called that out deserved to be pooped on by a bird in one of the overhead palm trees.
“The only baby you’ll see on me is a food baby,” Nina called out. Then she plastered on a megawatt smile and calmly walked past Sophie and into the restaurant. Once the massive door shut behind them, though, Nina’s fists balled at her sides.
“They never ask Leo about having kids,” Nina quickly said.
Sophie sensed her sister needed to rage, so she joined in. “I bet this restaurant has very heavy pots. Want me to throw one at that guy’s head?”
Nina sniffled. “Yeah, would you?”
Sophie rubbed Nina’s back, and they stood close together for a beat. Nina and her husband, Leo, had decided early on that because of their busy careers, they weren’t ready to have kids and maybe never would. Still, Nina had gotten her eggs frozen, just in case they changed their minds. Sophie knew her sister was okay with their decision, but she had a right to be annoyed that she was the only one ever asked about it.
“What did I miss?” Poppy’s long blond hair was tied up in a high ponytail and swished as she walked toward them. She wore flowing black pants and a matching top, looking equal parts resort chic and like a CEO in uniform. She removed her designer sunglasses and slid them into a pocket on her shirt. “Why are you both sad? Did they run out of that really tasty pita bread? I miss everything by going in the back way.”
As a habit, Poppy avoided anything to do with celebrity, which wasn’t easy considering she lived in Los Angeles and happened to have a very famous family.
“Oh, just the patriarchy at it again.” Sophie readjusted the sleeves of her lime green caftan. She owned pants but never cared to wear them.
Poppy crossed her arms solemnly. “I know those dummies well.”