Page 62 of Love is an Open Book
Mia
Blinking, I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. I check the time—no wonder I’m stiff, I’ve been writing for over three hours. It’s hard to believe how much has happened in twenty-four hours. I woke up today unable to focus on the book, worried kissing Gavin had ruined everything. Now we’re co-parenting kittens and I’m counting down the minutes until he comes home and kisses me again.
This morning, I had every intention of forgetting about the kiss. Gavin clearly wanted to. With the memory of him fleeing the scene replaying in my mind, all signs pointed to us making a huge mistake. If I hadn’t been so physically exhausted, I never would’ve fallen asleep, but when I woke up to no texts checking in like he normally would, I honestly thought I’d lost him, and the only thing I could think to do was avoid him as long as possible.
That turned out to be all of half an hour because when I checked my phone after showering, I found three unread messages, but not from the person I was desperate to hear from. Morris texted asking me to convince Gavin to take the kittens,and who can say no to kittens? So I bought breakfast for the crew, bracing myself to play things off like kissing Gavin hadn’t rocked my whole world. I kept it up all day, reminding myself how important it was to stick to friendship.
But none of my old excuses held weight against the reality of how good it felt to kiss him. It’s like that was the one thing missing from our relationship, and finding out he was right there with me, not wanting to forget it but wanting to dive into this newfound twist, was the sweetest relief. But everything feels so tenuous and new. The foundations of our friendship are shaken, and I’m worried that without the excuse of the trope tests, all this will crumble.
I don’t want to lose the magic we’ve just found. If I’m honest, I used looking after the kittens as an excuse not to go back to normal right away, to stay here in this place for a little longer where Gavin and I aren’t just friends. I should go check on them, but before I do, I take my phone off Do Not Disturb and see a string of texts from Evie. She must’ve read the chapters I sent her.
Evie:Omg, this is so good.
Evie:Sydney and Victor, who would’ve thought? Aside from the legion of fans clamoring for this book. Honestly, I wasn’t seeing it. But that scene in his friend’s closed-up mechanic shop where she was pretending to be a stranded motorist? Pure fire. I’m officially team friends-to-lovers.
Evie:Send me more when you have it. Or now. Now is good.
I stand and stretch, my palms sore, but better than yesterday. I took a picture of my bandaged hands to send Kim last night for sympathy before realizing texting her might be a slippery slope to revealing I kissed the man I’ve told her for years will neverbe more than a friend, which I absolutely wasn’t ready for. But the photo is still on my phone, and on impulse, I send it to Evie along with the caption:The things we do for our craft.
My phone immediately buzzes with a call from her. “Writing is not a contact sport,” she says when I answer. “What really happened?”
“I volunteered for a community lot cleanup day and let’s just say my soft hands were not prepared.”
“Another procrastination attempt?” We’ve both gone to great lengths to avoid tricky projects, including, in her case, drafting an entire novella instead of the book she was meant to finish.
“No, uh...” What will I tell her? The truth, I decide. I can’t bear to open up to Kim about what happened. She’ll be way too dramatic. But I need to debrief with someone before Gavin gets back. “You know how I was brainstorming with you about the method-acting scenes?”
“Yes,” she says warily.
“That wasn’t for the book, exactly.” I lay it all out, from the low-stakes office romance attempt to the way I kissed my best friend of nearly a decade and adopted cats with him the next day.
“Let me get this straight,” Evie says when I’m finished. “Despite his own fears, this man saved you from an escape-room blackout, nearly compromised you in a greenhouse, tended your injuries, ravished you on a fainting couch, and rescued kittens for you? I’d be moving in with him, too.”
I laugh at her assessment. “It’s just temporary, during the day, until we know it’s okay to leave the kittens.”
“Stop. You’re in it now. May as well send me a save the date.”
“We’re just friends.” The old line comes out by habit.
“Friends with benefits.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I’ve never done casual relationships, and this is Gavin. Our friendship is already deeper than any romantic relationship I’ve had. All the reasons why we’ve never crossed this line come rushing back with a vengeance andI swivel around to slide off the stool. “I’m worried things will never be the same.”
“They won’t be,” she says, and my stomach clenches. “Relationships change for a lot of reasons, and that’s not always a bad thing. But you two do need to talk and at least you have practice, being friends and all.”
We do. We’ve worked through our share of miscommunications and disagreements. We’ve shared advice and offered support. But we’ve never discussed how to move forward after making out.
“Mia, you there?”
“I’m here.” I peek inside the laundry room and see the kittens have been exploring. The gray one, Ash, is batting at the sleeve of Gavin’s hoodie that’s draped over the edge of a laundry basket. “Just checking on the cats.”
“Avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Which is supposed to be my manuscript.”
She blows out her breath. “From what you sent, you’re on the right track. But you’ve been running yourself into the ground for this book. Remember that you’re more than your career. How you spend your time is worth it for its own sake, not just as fodder for your creative well. Enjoy yourself and stop worrying over how everything will work out in the end.”
“Says the woman who just turned in a manuscript.”
