Page 39 of The Final Draft

Priscilla makes me think harder, go deeper, and I’ve done some genuine soul searching. She challenges me, and I find that very attractive. When you find someone that makes you a better version of yourself, it’s someone you need to keep around. I’ve never met her, but I want more from her.

I’m not sure if it’s feelings or curiosity. But if I’m developing feelings for her, what does that mean about the feelings I have for Harper? What I feel for Harper is real. I’m certain of it. But I can’t deny this pull towards Priscilla. It’s like that inexplicable pull Jacob had inTwilightbut with no creepy vampire baby to explain it away.

JB: Do you want to meet? It could improve productivity.

She reads my message and logs off. Did I scare her? She was the first to suggest we meet. Where did she go?

Two days of no login or response. Two days for me to stew about her. And Harper. Both silent. Two days and I’ve got the worst case of writers block I’ve ever experienced.

When my laptop pings with a chat notice, I rush to open the message.

PRISCILLA: Let’s meet at How You Brewin in Tribeca tomorrow at 4pm.

I’m flooded with relief that she’s back. I’ve grown attached and was worried something happened. If I don’t agree to meet, will I lose her forever?

JB: How will I find you?

PRISCILLA: I’ll have a book with a flower, of course.

JB: Very Meg Ryan of you.

PRISCILLA: Wondered if you’d catch the reference. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

I snicker at the movie reference. We debated the best rom-coms for twenty minutes last week. She was insistentYou’ve Got Mailwas in the top five, with her favorite beingHow to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. That’s a banger, no doubt, but I putNotting Hillhigher on the list than her. After engaging in enthusiastic conversation and discussion, we ultimately concluded that I’m the bigger romantic. She leans into the absurd and comedic part of the movie. Regardless, we’re both suckers for a good romance and a happy ending.

I arrive at the coffee shop twenty minutes early and pause across the street to gather myself. The large window gives the cafe light and allows me a clear view of most everyone in there. It’s a happening spot. I scan the crowd inside and find a woman sitting at a small table in the center of the room, a book and flower prominent beside her laptop. She has her head down, typing away.

Priscilla is even earlier than me. I’m about to cross the street, excited to meet her, when she looks up and I stop. Fuck. It’s Harper. I never suspected Priscilla was Harper. My Harper.

Why didn’t she tell me about her writing project? She mentioned her class at NYU, but I didn’t ask what kind of class. That’s my fault. I’m usually better at asking those kinds of questions.

Honestly, while I’m surprised, I’m also relieved. That connection I feel to Priscilla makes more sense now. Of course I like my writing partner. I’m attracted to Harper in every way imaginable, even when I didn’t know it was her.

A cold wind whips down the street, and it chills me to the bone. From the wind or the decision I need to make, I can’t be entirely sure. I look around on the busy street, hoping someone else walks in with a flower. Anyone else. Maybe it’s a coincidence or my author’s brain creating a scenario out of thin air. I pull out my phone and message Priscilla to verify.

JB: Going to have to reschedule. Family emergency. Sorry.

Harper looks at her laptop, scowls, and her fingers fly across the keyboard. Then she scans the coffee shop, disappointment on her face. A look that I caused. I feel terrible.

PRISCILLA: Another time then. Hope everyone is okay.

She closes her laptop and packs her things. She looks sad, and I need to fix that. What if I bump into her on the street? Then I can be with Harper while I figure out how to tell her.

I pop the collar on my coat and wrap my hand around the strap of my messenger bag. I put my head down and walk towards the coffee shop, strategically bumping into Harper.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Harper?” I put my acting chops to the test, the surprise feeling foreign to my tongue. This collision is a little reminiscent of our first New York meeting.

“Julian, what are you doing here?” Another surprised look, but this one is mixed with annoyance. I feel terrible for what I did to her.

I’m quick on my feet and tell her a bitter lie. “I finished a meeting with a client.” I pat my laptop bag as evidence of my story. She looks a little bewildered.

“Of the millions of people in the city, what are the chances I randomly bump into you? Twice now.” The playful twinkle in her eyes and her flirty touch tells me our unexpected encounter doesn't bother her at all. An amused smile plays on her lips. I release a sigh of relief, a wave of calm washing over me.

“Serendipity, to be sure. Can I buy you a coffee?” I nod toward the coffee shop she just left. I’m doing my best to think quickly and not act shady.

“I’m disappointed in you.” She shakes her head.

“Why?” Panic creeps in. She knows. She must know.

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