Page 89 of Cut Off
He shoves his mail under his arm. “Don’t let it go to your head. I still expect your garbage cans off the curb by sundown.”
“Wouldn’t want to fuck up your curb appeal.”
He grins, and there’s a connection in it, a common enemy.
I back off with a wave. “See you around.”
“Sure thing.” He’s already turning for his front door.
I walk home with a bounce. The sun’s a little warmer. Hell, the grass looks greener.
I have the world’s most intimidating neighbor in my corner.
I exhale. Long, slow, all the way down.
I’ve got this. Bring on whatever’s next. I’m ready.
25
The Offer
ZOE
Fun fact: Zoe Lane, professional communicator, has the skills of a wet sock when it comes to telling the man I have been sleeping with that I’d like to keep sleeping with him from five hundred miles away.
After dropping Eli at school, I’ve been rehearsing in the bathroom, and I have a whole opener. It’s casual. It’s breezy. “Hey, so, funny thing about the new job—” and then a pivot into the vouchers, and then a transition into the virtual work possibility, and then we land somewhere around the idea that maybe, possibly, in a hypothetical universe, this could be the kind of thing where two adults figure out a long-distance relationship.
That’s it. That’s the pitch. I’m not proposing. I’m not asking him to fly a banner over the rink that says ZOE LANE IS MORE THAN A NANNY. I’m simply, breezily laying out a set of logistics and seeing what he does with them.
In my head, this goes great.
He does that intense thing with his eyes, and his jaw works the way it works when he’s about to say something honest, and he says, “Sure, let’s do long distance. Even better, don’t go at all because I love you and need you.”
Okay, more romantic and drawn out, but some form of that.
I take a breath. I go downstairs.
He’s at the kitchen island, hunched over a coffee, scrolling through what looks like a team itinerary on his phone. The morning light in the kitchen is warm, expensive, and magazine-quality, and the whole thing is so domestic I almost lose my nerve.
“Hey,” I say.
Jonah glances up. He gives the smile that he seems to have stored in a safe and finally got to spend. “Hey.”
“Got a sec? I wanted to talk about something.”
His eyebrows tick up. “Yeah. Of course.”
Jonah follows me to the far end of the kitchen, by the big window that looks out onto the pool. He leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed, attentive in that focused way he has, like I’m a coach, and he’s about to take notes. The morning light catches in his hair, and I have to look at the cabinet handle instead of his face for a second.
“Okay,” I say. “So. Seattle.”
“Seattle,” he echoes.
“I found out a few things this week. Logistics things.” I make my voice the bright, competent one. “Turns out the job comes with monthly flying vouchers. Like, baked into the package. So travel is basically free.”
His face doesn’t move. “Okay.”
“And.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I had a call with HR yesterday, and they mentioned that in about six months, depending on how the team restructures, there may be options for a hybrid setup. As in, working remotely some weeks. They’re piloting it with a couple of senior producers.”
