Page 81 of Room for Us
I miss him. All of him. What I miss most of all, though, is the inexplicable joy and deep comfort I felt in his presence. A heady concoction of rightness that I’d never known before and now seems like a dream.
“Have you seen it?” asks Celeste, leaning forward on the barstool in my kitchen.
She’s made a habit of showing up on her days off while Damien is with friends. We spend some time outdoors pampering the plants—which amounts to her bossing me around—but we always end up inside drinking coffee or tea and chatting while I do dinner prep.
“Seen what?” I look up from slicing a cucumber.
She holds up her phone. “The interview.” She shakes her head. “Never mind, of course you haven’t. You’re one of those weirdos who only uses her phone for texting and calling. Come here.”
I chuckle nervously. “I’m not sure I want to. Who is it?”
I already know, though, from her body language and the look on her face.
“I won’t make you watch all of it. Just this one part.”
Curiosity wins. I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and walk to her side. The audio begins before I can focus on the attached video; a man is lightly admonishing someone. I hear Ethan’s voice the same time I see his face—bearded, messy hair, bright eyes, expression shifting from concentration to a smile.
He chuckles. “Yes, I’m aware the fans have been waiting a while.”
“I have to ask—what took so long? Was it a case of writer’s block?”
“You could say that. In hindsight, though, I think I needed the right spark to rekindle the story. A muse, if you will.”
My heart does a flip and a nosedive. I glance at Celeste—she’s grinning maniacally. The next question makes me grip the counter.
The interviewer sits forward, hyper-alert. “I know I’m not the only one wondering what—or who—this muse is. Mind if I ask?”
Ethan shifts in his chair, looking down for a moment. When he looks back up, there’s a private smile on his face.
“I’d like to keep the details to myself, but I’ll tell you this much: it’s a person. The most extraordinary individual I’ve ever known, and meeting them absolutely changed me for the better.”
Celeste stops the video and grabs my arm, shaking it as she squeals in excitement. “The rest is just about release info and stuff. You can watch it later if you want. But I had to show you that part. He’s talking about you! Oh my God, Zoey! You’re the muse of freaking E.M. Hart! He wrote a book because of you!”
I’m mute, staring blankly at her.
Celeste’s grip on my arm tightens. “You need to talk to him. See him. Go to New York this weekend! Your mom already said she’d take over at the inn for a few days.”
I finally snap out of it. “What? You talked to my mom?”
Celeste grimaces. “Uh, yeah. You can forgive me later. Come on, Zo, just think about it! What do you have to lose? He obviously has serious feelings for you. And people do long-distance relationships all the time. Please don’t turn away from this.”
To my shock, tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. “Celeste? What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, sniffing hard. “I’m just a sap, okay? I believe in love. The real, everlasting kind. And I just don’t want you to miss out on something really wonderful. You deserve to be happy. And I know he made you happy.”
“But—”
“No buts. Just the truth. You’re scared. I get it—more than most. There are no certainties in love. It’s always a risk. But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t tell you to go for it. Take the leap. If it doesn’t work out? Well, shit, that would suck. But you’ll never have to wonder what might have happened if only you’d tried. Do it, Zo. Go.”
Ethan, my heart whispers.
Trembling, I nod.
45
I’ve leveled-up on my crazy. Two days ago, I heard Ethan’s voice and saw his face on Celeste’s phone and then later, mine. Today, after eight hours of flights and layovers, and a nauseating cab ride from JFK, I’m pushing through foot traffic on 6th Avenue with sweaty pits, gritty eyes, and airplane breath.
Keeping me going is a mixture of caffeine and what I can only describe as a potential psychotic break—although Celeste would probably call it a leap of faith. My mom, too. But they’re not in my head, which bounces every few seconds between You’re making a huge mistake and I’m living in a Hallmark movie.
