Page 89 of Unromance

Following her gaze, Stan clicked his tongue. “Don’t even think about it. I will shut it down with you in it and let you think about your choices for half an hourat least,” Stan threatened, gesturing to a control board atop his desk.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Sawyer forced a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. “Actually,” she said brightly. If there was one thing she was good at, it was telling stories. This was about to become her magnum opus. “The whole reason Mason and I know each other is because of an elevator. Only, he was the one trying to sneak on.”

Stan settled back into his desk chair, swiveling back and forth before opening his bag of Garrett popcorn. “Continue.”

“Wait,” Stan said as he settled back into his chair. “Valentine’s Day was two weeks ago.”

Sawyer grimaced, readjusting the stack of cards at her feet that kept sliding across the slick tile floor. She almost felt guilty for monopolizing Stan’s time. Numerous tenants had come and gone, Stan jumping up with surprising quickness for an older gentleman, hurrying back every time so she could resume her story.

“Yes, it was, but do you know how hard it is to find a working boom box these days? And a cassette? I had to get this shipped from Portland! And—” She smiled guiltily. “I may or may not have been busy with another thing…”

Stan grinned, rolling a piece of caramel corn between his fingers. “You finished your book, didn’t you?”

She nodded. While she waited for her grand gesture items to be delivered, she’d resumed herDiagnosticsbinge because it was all she could think to do. When Dr. Santiago and Nurse Lia broke up at the end of season four, Sawyer screamed at Kara’s character for letting him go, but Nurse Lia didn’t know Dr. Santiago was on the other side of town, looking for her like she was looking for him. Sawyer had unearthed herself from the mountain of blankets and pillows on her couch to make a bowl of popcorn before starting season five, but while she stood there, watching the kernels burst in the pan, she realized how to fix her book. Dragging her laptop off the couch, she moved it to her dining room table before moving back to the couch and wrapping herself in blankets. If she was going to do this, she needed to be coddled. She sobbed her way through the final chapters, partially for her characters, giving them the happy ending she wanted, and partially forherself, because she was doing it. For the first time in years, she had finished a book.

She sent the draft off to her agent and editor, praying Emily’s earlier enthusiasm wouldn’t wane once she read the final product. She wasn’t sure if anyone would want to read a book about two people who did everything wrong the first time finding their way back to each other, but she hoped that her readers would find their way back to her, just like her characters had.

Stan set down his bag of popcorn, wagging a finger at her. “And you’re not here just to finish the list?”

Sawyer shook her head. “It’s not about the list or even the grand gesture. I get it now, why our mission was always doomed to fail. All those big movie moments, they would all fall flat if the person didn’t mean it. If they hadn’t fought to get there. It’s not about racing across town to find each other on New Year’s, or interrupting a wedding, it’s the vulnerability—not the act itself. It’s about showing up and risking it all with no guarantee you’ll get what you want. It’s about trying. That’s why I’m here. To try. And maybe make a complete fool of myself—” She shrugged. “But I don’t care. Because I’m in love. And I want to fight for it. But first, I gotta get past this doorman who’s a little too good at his job.”

Stan grinned, leaning forward once more, bracing his elbows on his desk before reaching over and pushing a button. A moment later, the elevator dinged, the doors opening.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE GRAND GESTURE– Go big or go home, baby!

Mason ran a hand through his hair. He still wasn’t used to having it Dr. Santiago short, filming due to start on Monday. Scrolling through his phone, he tried to decide what to order for dinner. He scratched absently at his stomach under the hem of his shirt. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat, and he was too drained to cook.

He’d spent the afternoon cleaning his apartment, banishing everything of Sawyer’s into a small drawer. She hadn’t left much behind, save for the gold dress, the jewelry, and a few dozen bobby pins he was still somehow finding everywhere. He knew he should throw it all in one of the many moving boxes now scattered around his apartment and send it back to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. It didn’t seem right that he could feel so much for a person and have it all amount to nothing. He’d overnighted his letter to her two weeks ago, but even with her radio silence, he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

He froze mid-scroll as the sound of drums reached him. The walls here were fairly well insulated, so he rarely heard his neighbors. Someone must be really rocking out. Though it was more like a slow jam. Was that…was that Peter Gabriel? Mason’s attention drifted slowly toward the door.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he tossed his phone onto the counter, all thoughts of dinner forgotten as he crossed over to the door in a few long strides, cautious hope blooming in his chest. Without bothering to check to see who it was—he knew who it was—he opened the door.

Sawyer stood across the hall, hastily shooing one of his neighbors back inside. Catching sight of him, she froze, breath visibly hitching. She straightened, and Mason leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, taking her in.

She wore a tattered green army jacket with a plaid flannel and black T-shirt underneath. Her faded jeans were loose and ripped, combat boots peeking out beneath the frayed hem. He could only assume this was her approximation of Eighties Rom-Com Male Love Interest Chic. A massive boom box sat at her feet. Where had she found a vintage boom box—and how long had she been planning this?

He was too shocked to do or say anything. She picked up a stack of cards, and his lips twitched upward as he realized what was about to happen. Sawyer Greene was making a grand gesture. Hell must be freezing over.

As she propped the stack of white posters against her chest, he tore his attention away from her wide green eyes to her slightly trembling hands to the first card, undulating with her shaky breaths.

HI.

“Hello, Sawyer,” he said quietly.

She smiled slightly, removing the first card and propping it against her shin.

He dragged his attention back to the cards.

I’M SORRY.

Next card.

I WAS SCARED.

Next card.

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