Page 11 of The Final Faceoff
Aspen scoffs. “How tragic for the men of the world.”
I sigh, swirling the last bit of my iced coffee. “I tried, Aspen. I really fucking tried. I was perfectly charming. I laughed at his stories—even the one about his hedge fund job and how he thinks humanitarian work is ‘nice.’ I was patient when he ordered for me, like it was nineteen-fifty-two, and I was just an optional accessory to his meal.”
Aspen hums. “Ah. So, you ran?”
“Not immediately,” I say, lifting my index finger hoping she waits until I make my case. “I lasted a whole forty-five minutes before texting Leif to fake an emergency call.”
“Wow. Restraint.”
“I know, right?”
My phone buzzes again and not surprisingly, it’s Leif:How do you keep finding the worst men on every continent? Do you have an app for that? Is it Ghostr International—so they can disappear faster than your self-respect? Red Flags Around the World—so at least you see them coming? World’s Worst Mates—because soulmates are overrated?
I groan, but then laugh, my fingers already moving across the screen:It’s a talent, you know? Some people juggle flaming batons, others train squirrels to ride bikes. I make terrible dating choices.
Aspen eyes me over her coffee. “Leif? Why do I even ask, of course it’s him. You’re always texting with him and reaching out to him when you need him to save you—even if he’s on another continent. You’re ridiculous.”
I look up, and her expression is far too knowing.
“What?” I shrug. “He’s my emergency exit buddy. I do the same for him—well, I would if he dated.”
She leans back, stretching like a cat in the sun. “You ever think maybe he’s the reason you don’t actually try with any of these guys?”
I scoff. “Excuse me, I try very hard to be open to love. It’s just that love keeps showing up in the form of emotionally stunted finance bros with the self-awareness of a potato, or guys who think being open to a relationship means they want to date more than one woman at a time, or?—”
Aspen cuts me off with a pointed sip of her drink. “And yet, you and Leif have been talking every day for what, ten years?”
“Fifteen,” I correct, stabbing my spoon into my now-melted coffee. “That’s different. We’re best friends.”
“Right,” she says, unconvinced. “Ever thought about dating him?”
I laugh, leaning back in my chair. “Leif and I are—we’re different. He’s just there, you know? He’s like . . . I don’t know, the North Star or something.”
Aspen tilts her head. “Hailey, you move constantly. You’ve lived in seven different time zones in the last two years. If Leif is your North Star, then why are you still wandering?”
I open my mouth—then close it.
“Not that kind of North Star,” I say, but even I can hear how flat it sounds.
Because what am I supposed to say? That he’s the one person I don’t know how to mess this up with? That I’ve built my entire adult life around the idea of leaving before I get left, and Leif is the only person I can’t afford to risk?
No.
Instead, I change the subject. “So, do we think I’ll ever find a guy who isn’t a walking red flag?”
Aspen grins. “Probably not.”
“Great. Love that for me.” I drain the last of my drink and push my chair back. “Let’s finish breakfast and get to work. This might be paradise, but they don’t pay us to enjoy it.”
“They don’t pay us until we deliver,” she reminds me, arching a brow. “Are you sticking around after we wrap?”
I hesitate. “Probably. My choices are either heading back to New York to wait for a green light on one of my pitched documentaries or staying here and dodging my family.”
Not that anyone could blame me. At my grandmother’s birthday, the conversation was a relentless interrogation—When are you settling down? You’re too old. We—meaning my grandparents—will die before we meet our first great-grandchild.Even the General—who I sometimes, begrudgingly, call ‘Father’—had an opinion. Retirement must have given him extra time to meddle.
“If I had a budget for my next project, I’d bring you on,” she says, matter-of-fact.
“No worries.” I tilt my head, taking in the postcard-perfect view of Santorini—the whitewashed buildings stacked against the cliffside, the sun slipping lower over the Aegean, streaking the water in gold. Maybe staying here isn’t the worst idea.
