Page 77 of Unromance

They made it back to her place in record time, the roads mercifully empty as most of Chicago had yet to poke their heads out.

we’re gonna be late, she texted Lily on the way, to which Lilyreplied,WE?!Sawyer ignored that, running up to her apartment and changing as quickly as her throbbing head would allow. Hurrying and hangovers did not go well together. Mason, by comparison, seemed completely fine.

“I was too busy schmoozing to raid the open bar,” he explained when she pointed out how not hungover he was for hangover brunch.

Sawyer groaned good-naturedly as they hopped off the L train and walked the remaining distance to Lily and Beau’s. On the whole, she didn’t feel terrible, beyond a slightly pulsing headache that she hoped would abate after a carb-loaded breakfast and some hair of the dog.

Lily and Beau’s apartment was only a quick train ride from her apartment, in an up-and-coming artsy neighborhood that Sawyer would love to live in, but she wasn’t willing to take on a roommate to afford the rent. Thankfully, Lily and Beau were always happy to host her, and she was well-acquainted with being their third wheel to bar openings and Shakespeare in the Parks.

Sawyer froze with her hand over the door, turning to Mason. “I know you’ve met Lily, but I feel like I should warn you that her and Beau are, like…a lot. In a good way, like being cuddled to death by a litter of very hyper puppies.”

Mason grinned. “You said Beau is in tech, right?”

Sawyer laughed at herself. “Er, like he manages the tech crew at Steppenwolf.”

Mason’s brows rose slightly, impressed, before leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Are you really forewarning me about meeting your actor friends?”

Sawyer blinked at him. “Right. I forgot.”

He stared down at her, bemused, before rapping on the door with his fist.

If she hadn’t already warned him, the answering cheers from the other side of the door would have sufficed.

“And don’t eat the red jam in the fridge,” she cautioned. “It’s not jam.”

Mason fixed her with a quizzical look. “What is it?”

“Stage blood.”

Mason choked on a laugh. “Do you know this from personal experience, or—?”

Thankfully, Beau opened the door, sparing her from having to come clean about the toast incident. Lily bounded out, dragging Sawyer into a hug. For such a string bean of a person, she gave fierce hugs. There was an attempt to temper her excitement for Mason’s benefit, holding her hand out for a handshake—then enveloping him in a hug anyway. Beau hugged Sawyer before appropriately greeting Mason, who was still wearing a slightly baffled expression.

Lily and Beau ushered them inside, and Sawyer watched Mason take in the space. Their walls were decorated with Lily’s watercolor art and stage props Beau called “mementos” that were actually “pilfered.” None of it went together, but it provided Sawyer some solace that someone’s apartment was even more eclectic than hers. On top of the mishmash of styles, they had black and gold New Year’s decorations and what appeared to be wedding decor to celebrate their anniversary.

If Mason found any of this odd, he didn’t show it. But it wasn’t his PR Face. He seemed genuinely enraptured by it all. Sawyer slid her hand into his and squeezed. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Lily, who gratefully didn’t comment on it beyond a widening of her eyes as she led them over to the makeshift bar.

“Mimosas?”

Sawyer groaned. “Please. No more bubbles. I can’t.”

Beau lit up. “Bloody Marys!”

Beau pulled a bottle of booze from beneath the bar and began constructing their drinks with obvious enthusiasm—though Beau rarely did anything in any other way.

As Beau twirled their pint glasses in seasoned salt, Mason listened attentively to Beau as he described the extensive research he’d done to perfect his Bloody Mary recipe.

“So,” Lily said from behind her half-empty mimosa, dragging Sawyer into the kitchen under the pretext of checking on the breakfast potatoes. “What happened between yesterday and now? Not that I thought your grand gesture wouldn’t be successful—obviously, the two of you are meant to be together. But I’d be lying if I didn’t expect not to hear about it for weeks, in true Sawyer fashion.”

Sawyer ignored the gibe. She told Lily everything. Maybe not immediately, but once she knew how she felt, she always told her. “It wasn’t a grand gesture,” she mumbled defensively.

Lily waved this away. “Listen, the faster you tell me, the faster we can save Mason from my wonderful husband’s Bloody Mary monologue.”

Sawyer smirked. Under her breath, she relayed an abbreviated version of events. Mason came over while she was getting ready—“Oh my God, it’s like you were both metaphorically running across the field into each other’s arms, only the field was a very dirty city!”—they both apologized, went to the party, ran into Kara, went out for waffles, had sex, and came to brunch.

“You spent the night?” Lily whispered. Her eyes were so wide with anticipation, Sawyer was growing concerned they might fall out and roll across the floor.

“It was late, and Ubers on New Year’s are ungodly expensive,” shesaid nonchalantly, hoping Lily would take the hint to not make it a big deal.

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