Page 71 of The Prime-Time Experiment

“That is not progress.”

“It absolutely is.”

Riley glanced back at the laptop. The unfinished analysis remained exactly where she had left it, patient and unmoving. Her attention, meanwhile, continued demonstrating an alarming tendency to drift. “I am attempting to work.”

“You’ve been ‘attempting to work’ for nearly an hour.”

“I completed several sections earlier.”

“After rereading the same paragraph six times.”

Riley paused. That was, unfortunately, accurate. A laugh escaped Dee before her expression softened slightly. “Ri,” she said, leaning forward onto her elbows, “you’re allowed to do things that aren’t productive.”

“I do things that are not productive.”

“No, you do things that have a purpose.”

The distinction made Riley hesitate, because Dee wasn’t entirely wrong. Even her hobbies tended to become projects. Reading became research, exercise became research. Rest became recovery from research. Research had become her life.

The idea of doing something simply because it was enjoyable still felt strangely incomplete. Which was ironic, considering she had spent the better part of the last week doing exactly that.

Her thoughts drifted briefly toward Declan again, and Dee immediately pointed at her. “There. That face.”

Riley frowned. “What face?”

“The one where you’re thinking about him.”

“I do not have a specific face.”

“You absolutely have a specific face.”

Riley looked away. Dee’s grin widened. “Okay, that’s actually adorable.”

“It is not.”

“It really is.”

The warmth that accompanied the observation was mildly irritating. More irritating was the fact that Riley didn’t entirely dislike it.

Dee settled back in her chair. “My point is that you’ve spent your entire life treating happiness like it needs to justify itself first.”

The statement lingered longer than Riley expected. She wanted to argue with it, to explain that optimisation and stability were not the same thing. That productivity served a function.

Instead, she found herself looking at the darkened reflection in her laptop screen and wondering when exactly she had stopped enjoying things for their own sake, or whether she ever had.

Dee stood abruptly and grabbed her handbag. “Come to the café with me.”

Riley blinked. “What for?”

“Coffee.”

“We have coffee.”

Dee grimaced. “Not good coffee.”

Riley considered this. “Would there be a secondary objective?”

“No.”