Page 100 of Booked on You
I stride back toward the cottage, my brain feeling like spaghetti. The first hour of the day has been eventful.
Waking up in Ezra’s arms, meeting Millie, learning more about who Ezra is, and then having his ex waltz into his house like she still belonged there has my mind reeling.
I keep replaying that awkward moment. She just showed up on his doorstep at seven in the morning with donuts. Who even does that?
I open the cottage door and drop into my desk chair, spinning it around once, twice, until dizziness reminds me that adults in their thirties should probably handle things differently.
“Grow up,” I grumble, knowing I’m stalling.
I straighten my shoulders and wake my laptop, then I open a web browser, searching Ezra like he asked me to do.
I type his name into the search bar, and I’m flooded with results.
My mouth falls open. Article after article details Ezra’s dating history, bold-faced names and glossy magazine covers splashing across the screen. My breath catches at the familiar face that grins confidently from one thumbnail.
Ezra’s father, Ryder Reed, the legendary guitarist from Midnight Riot. Of course, he is. Because why wouldn’t Ezra be the product of rock royalty with his bad boy vibe?
Clicking deeper, my eyes widen at the endless string of gossip about Ezra’s relationships, each breakup and new fling meticulously documented and analyzed. The internet is shamelessly fascinated by his love life, and I can’t help the twist in my stomach as I read speculative headlines.
Is this how he felt about me? Did he search me online? If he hasn’t, he should.
A viral video pops up—Ezra shirtless, hands deftly shaping wet clay into elegant mugs. The clip has millions of views, and the comments are a blur of admiration, thirsty comments, and emoji-filled proposals. My cheeks heat, my pulse skittering under my skin as I watch his muscles flex and ripple with each smooth, confident movement.
Then my heart sinks as I find the engagement announcement: Ezra and Sara. The perfect couple, the glamorous pair everyone expected would last forever. The pictures show an effortlessly happy Ezra, completely oblivious to the heartbreak that would eventually follow.
I click to the next article, heart softening instantly. Paris Pottery’s grand opening—named lovingly after his late mother’s middle name—was covered extensively, praised as an artistic tribute. Photos capture Ezra smiling sadly but proudly, a quiet grief visible even beneath his charming facade.
I read over articles about Ezra’s breakup, speculation running wild about what happened, until suddenly, he disappears.
No statements, no explanations. Just radio silence.
My chest tightens as I lean back in my chair, absorbing it all.
In that silence, I recognize myself. We both vanished, both choosing to disappear from a world that seemed too much to handle.
I switch tabs, curiosity drawing me to his social media, where he has millions of followers. Far more than I’ve ever had, even at my peak. Each post is carefully curated yet genuine, reflecting his passion. He’s famous, adored, and desired—and yet, he’s here with me.
We’re just two people who found each other after putting ourselves back together. Ezra’s been through storms as devastating as mine, and he’s still standing. He understands the cost of being known and what it means to lose yourself under the harsh glare of the spotlight. If anyone can handle my life, it’s him.
Taking a shaky breath, I stare at the ceiling. This only reiterates what my heart has been saying all this time—Ezra Reed is exactly who I’ve been searching for all along.
With a steadying breath, I click deeper into the results about Ellie. Ezra’s mom’s pottery career wasn’t just successful—she’s a legend. Photos from an old gallery event shows elegant sculptures on marble pedestals, perfectly lit beneath gallery spotlights. I study her face in a black-and-white portrait, noticing Ezra’s smile in hers, their matching dimples, and thoughtful eyes.
My fingers scroll downward, a headline catching my eye:Ellie’s Love Affair with Ryder Reed.
A grainy photo appears, taken in some dark, smoky bar decades ago. The faces are blurred, but the man standing besideEzra’s mother unmistakably carries a familiar swagger. My heartbeat kicks up, a quick rhythm of excitement and disbelief.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
I quickly skim the gossip column beneath it, detailing rumors of secret meetups. I click on another picture of his dad when he was around the same age as Ezra. There is no doubt who his father is; they look so much alike. I close out of the article and find myself wandering back to photos of him and Sara.
They look perfect together. I remind myself they weren’t.
Needing a distraction, I text my bestie.
Scarlett
You should call me. I have a LOT to catch you up on.
