Page 60 of The Perfect Rom-Com

I mean, that’s what agents do after all; they are always in every facet of their authors’ lives.

I gulp, realizing even as I think it how absolutely, universally untrue that statement is.

I can’t even lie to myself in my head.

Fine.

That’s it then.

In situations of unusual temptation, such as sleeping approximately three feet under your male friend you start having dreams about, you need to do the extreme.

And that means, in this case, messaging Parker my plan at 1:00 a.m. his time.

Which, as I learn five brisk minutes later, Parker is not super in favor of.

No don’t do that yet.

I flip back to the two tabs on my computer and begin to type. I just see there’s this deal on the airline tickets right now. I could get to Auckland with only three layovers, but it’ll get me to you at your 4am.

Bryony, let’s talk about this later.

I take another sip of my coffee—my third cup of the day. Right, but the deal is not going to last. You know how it is with tracking and browsers. I’m thinking I should go ahead and grab tickets now. Could you get off that week? August 4–10?

I press Send and before I get an answer add: Actually, don’t worry if you can’t. I’ll just work during the day solo, maybe sightsee a bit if I need to. It’s totally fine if you can’t! This would be great!

I press Send again and wait. Actually, force myself to wait. Force my hands to stay still by clutching my coffee mug like a lifeline.

“Bryony.” Jack’s voice is cautionary. I steal my eyes toward him for just a moment. They’re too green. Too concerned. Too intensely looking into mine as if to figure out what’s going on. Too much like that vision I’m finding myself uncomfortably clinging to during that walls-down kiss. “What’s going on?” he says.

I force my eyes back toward the screen. Toward Parker. My loving and devoted, if painfully distant the past two years, boyfriend.

I know it’s late, I add. Sorry. You’re sleeping I know. I just saw this deal and wanted to tackle it. Finally do something. Finally get a flight on the books. It’s been too long.

Ridiculously long.

How it is possible to be apart from each other this long and still be together is somewhat mind-blowing. But every time it seems that I’m free, he isn’t. And every time I find out I’m free, he isn’t.

Wait, I said that twice. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

I know it looks bad, but the reality is, the organization he’s with pays him less than I make teaching, and it takes a lot more than what I make teaching to casually book a flight from Auckland, Russia, to JFK. Even his parents haven’t seen him except via laptop screen for holidays. But his work is vital to the area. His patience in teaching in a not-particularly-warm climate admirable.

And I’m just keen to tell him so.

In person.

“You look like you’re a horse-betting addict waiting on results.”

I ignore Jack’s painfully true remark and continue staring at my screen.

Even his voice sounds more . . . more rugged and handsome this morning.

I tap on Pandora.

My patented classic Vince Guaraldi Trio instrumental album blasts from my cell phone, faithful and true.

He rolls his head back. “Bryony, can we please play anything besides the same playlist you played the last thirty times yesterday?”

“It’s soothing,” I remark, not looking up.