Page 35 of The Spirit of Love

I’d like you to meetJude de Silva…

Near sunset on Monday evening, after my sudden, shocking demotion, I’m standing next to a two-ton saguaro cactus, watching a doom-shaped dot on my phone. Jude de Silva, known genius,Zombie Hospital’s new director, and Sam look-alike is getting closer.

Approximately thirty-six minutes ago, Jude shared his location with me, unprovoked, to “reduce logistical confusion.” I’ve spent the last thirty-six minutes watching him, in avatar form, descend upon my evening.

It wasn’t enough for Jude to wreck my day; now he’s insisting upon a “quick chat” to curdle my night. He’s been blowing up my phone ever since I fled the set at the first reasonable opportunity this afternoon. I assumed he’d be too busy to notice, too much of an utter genius to care…but he noticed. And he seems to care.

I can’t stop seeing Jude’s—Sam’s—face from this morning. He’d looked so genuinely excited to waltz in and steal my dream.

Zombie Hospital’s new director.

Jude is the last person I want to see, but he insisted we do this, so I’m taking some pleasure imagining him in eastbound evening rush hour, coming to meet me in this part of town. Idon’t know where Jude lives, but for most Angelinos, Pasadena isveryinconvenient, which was at least one good reason to invite him here. That and I was already here at the Huntington Gardens, still with hours to kill before Olivia’s dress fitting at a bridal shop up the street.

But Jude didn’t balk when I dropped the pin. He shared his location and got on the 101.

The Huntington Gardens, LA’s prized botanical gem, keep occasional late hours in September, winding down their “Summer Evening Strolls” series. When I arrived an hour ago, the tranquil Japanese garden felt too Zen, and the lush rose garden, too superior. When I found myself among the cactuses, the flora finally fit my mood.

Because my rage continues to blossom like anAdenium obesum, otherwise known as the desert rose. Which is poisonous.

I figured I could stay a while among the burrs and needles because I’m not meeting my friends at the bridal shop until eight. Olivia made special arrangements to keep the store open late to accommodate my schedule…back when I was supposed to direct today. Back before Jude de Silva, director from another vector, pierced my heart and soul.

My palms are damp and my chest feels tight because Jude is close and getting closer. And I’m still so upset I don’t think I should see anyone, let alone my new boss and the source of all my rage.

If he wants an apology or even an explanation for what happened in Rich’s office this morning, I may accidentally impale him on a dragon fruit tree. The only upside to this encountermight be seeing him in natural light and confirming with clear eyes that he’s not…that he has nothing on Sam.

I smile because that’s what happens now when I think of Sam. But the smile soon fades. Sam’s so far away, he might as well be a dream. Jude is mynow, my waking nightmare.

I hear footsteps, and I know it’s him. I don’t want to look up, but I do. At the sight of him—still in his suit from today, his face fixed on his screen, pursuing my pin—I let out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in my lungs since the meeting in Rich’s office. Jude doesn’t carry his shoulders like Sam. He doesn’t walk like Sam. He doesn’t take in the natural world like he’s grateful to be participating in it, like Sam.

His hands, though, they’re familiar. And I wonder if I went to him and took his hand in mine, if my skin would know the answer. Not that I willevertake Jude de Silva by the hand.

When he finally looks up, he seems startled by his surroundings, like he hadn’t known until now he was in a botanical garden at all. And then he looks at me. And his dark eyes go soft, a little downturned at the corners. His brow smooths out, like day two of a really good vacation. And there issomething. I don’t know. Something reminiscent of the man I fell for last weekend. He smiles, and my stomach twists the way it does right before a kiss. I have to look away and hope Jude doesn’t see the heat rising to my cheeks.

“Fenny.”

“Jude.”

“I found you.” He glances at the saguaro over my head. “So you’re into cactuses?”

I raise an eyebrow. “When I’m in certain moods.”

“Nature’s wisest plant. They never let down their guard.”

“Inspiring. Is that a Glennon Doyle quote? Or some team-building trope you’re developing for tomorrow?”

“Funny,” he says, dry as a desert garden. “I’m not above team-building. Are you?”

“The thing is, Jude. This team—Zombie Hospital—it’s pretty much already built. We saved you the effort, long ago.”

“Right, so I’ve learned. I got to talk to the rest of the cast and crew today, but I didn’t have a chance to connect with you. You left so early.”

“Something came up.”

You did, dickhead.

“Everything okay?” He tips his head, and I have to look away again because from a couple of angles, despite the beard, despite the hair, despite the arrogance, there is something Sam-like about him.

Is this what happens to me when I fall for someone? I see them in everyone, including the worst possible people in my life? Is there a medication to undo this particular mindfuck?

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