So, I try again—with words, this time, instead of sweets. “I should have done a million things differently last night.”

  “Okay.”

  “I shouldn’t have sabotaged your evening.”

  “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”

  “I was off all day. By the time the party began, I’m pretty sure I was spiraling.”

  I expect her to fire off something caustic and justified, but Bellamy doesn’t punch below the belt. “It wasn’t your best moment.”

  That’s a generous assessment, and I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have busted up your evening like I did. I was eaten alive by jealousy, and I feel like such a shit for letting that happen.”

  She frowns. “I don’t care about you ruining an introduction. That’s not what truly hurts. Don’t you get it?”

  They’re the same words she used last night, but her tone is different. Where she was vulnerable then, now she’s erected ramparts and installed a moat filled with crocodiles. But I’m willing to swim past predators and scale castle walls for a chance with her.

  “I do understand,” I say. “And I should have listened last night. And I should have listened to your podcast before the party. And I should have listened at the café yesterday when you said you wanted to talk.”

  Her expression softens. “Thank you for saying that but . . .” You’re missing the point.

  It’s as clear as if she’d said it out loud.

  I do get it now. I’m still dancing around the truth—the terrifying and wonderful truth.

  “I love you, Bellamy,” I blurt it out, and it hurts to say.

  But it also feels incredible.

  She sounds wildly doubtful. “You do?”

  “I do. I love you. I want to be yours,” I say, laying it out there for her, hoping she believes me.

  She shifts back in her seat, giving herself space to take a good look at me. “That’s not what you said last night. In fact, you said the opposite.”

  “I was wrong. I was stupid.”

  The silence hangs heavily between us for a beat before she speaks. “Last night you seemed pretty sure that I came to your parties to meet men. As if I’d done something wrong when you asked me to attend for literally that reason. I wasn’t interested in any of those guys, but they came over to talk to me, and I was being polite to your guests at your party. Then you acted like you were the honorable one to ignore your dating app. But I went to the party for you, and what you said hurt so much . . . because you knew I wanted to talk to you about the bet and about us.”

  Us. There isn’t even an us to talk about because of me. “You did say that, and I didn’t deal with it well,” I say, regret rushing through me like a rocket.

  “I’d been trying to tell you for days how I felt about you. I got on air and told you, for all intents and purposes.”

  She fires truth bombs left and right, and I do my best to catch them and defuse them. “I wish I could go back in time and do last night all over again.”

  But is it too late to tell her the truth?

  “Me too,” she says, her voice wobbly, but she seems to swallow down her pain. “Because when I told you how I felt last night, you could barely conceive that I was talking about you.” A deep breath seems to fuel her. “So how do I know if you truly want to be mine? How do I know you’re ready for whatever is beyond an understanding?”

  I lean across the table, wishing I could take her hands in mine, implore her with my touch. “I do. I swear. Can we try again?”

  Her lips part, but she says nothing. She glances down at the chocolates and taps the box with a red polished nail. When she looks up again, a sliver of a smile comes my way. “I don’t know, but I like these chocolates and as I eat them, I’ll think about it.”

  She stands, takes the box, and leaves.

  If I was confused last night, I’m not anymore.

  Everything’s crystal clear. What’s especially clear is how hard it’ll be to convince her I’m worth all this trouble.

  It’s going to take so much more than a box of chocolates.

  But I am here for it.

  44

  The Great Convincing

  From the Email Correspondence of Bellamy Hart and Easton Ford

  * * *

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  Thank you for meeting me yesterday. I meant everything I said. I am in love with you. And I want to convince you that I’m ready.

  * * *

  So, consider yourself warned that it’s about to begin. I plan to prove myself to the flapper who walked into my life, since I can’t stand the thought that at the next costume party you might be the one who got away.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  So, what you’re saying is you’re embarking on The Great Convincing?

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  Yes. It’s the era that comes after An Understanding. Or, more precisely, An Understanding with Sleepovers. Wait. Nope. It comes after An Understanding with Sleepovers Botched by The Jackass Cowboy.

  * * *

  For The Great Convincing, you’ll need chocolate (for sustenance), plus an eraser, a notebook, and of course, a pen.

  * * *

  I hope you liked the gifts.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  I like the sentiment, and the gifts. I received them this morning, as a matter of fact. An eraser because you wish you could erase the other night. A pen to write a new beginning.

  * * *

  Very clever, very you.

  * * *

  But where’s the notebook?

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  Check the mailroom at your apartment building. The email from the delivery company says the notebook landed there.

  * * *

  I’m not totally on pins and needles, pacing my office, wondering what you think of every single word in it.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  Aww. It’s cute when you open your heart. Was that you being all squishy and vulnerable just now?

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  Yes. How am I doing?

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  I guess we’ll have to see. How did it feel?

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  Hard, but good. And worth it, like you.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  I could turn those words around and make a joke à la, hard but good, like you. But I’ll say this instead: This side of you is interesting.

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  I hope interesting is good.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  Me too.

  * * *

  By the way, I’m at work. I have things to do for the podcast tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to check the mailroom in my building till I’m home tonight.

  Looks like those pins and needles might last a little longer.

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  I’m willing to wait.

  * * *

  Easton

  Dear Easton,

  * * *

  I’m home now, and I’m unwrapping the notebook. It has illustrations of horses on it. Nice touch, cowboy.

  * * *

  Ooh, there’s another notebook—one with cellos!

  * * *

  Okay, that’s some serious points on the convincing scale.

  * * *

  And, wow, your handwriting is bad. You weren’t joking. I’m going to need to use the Da Vinci code section of my brain to decipher this.

  * * *

  But that’s okay. I like puzzles. I think I’ll like this one.

  * * *

  Bellamy

  Dear Bellamy,

  * * *

  The night I met you, I was determined to kiss you, but that wasn’t because of a bet. It was because of all the things you said to me at The Lucky Spot, when I was Jay and you were Not-Daisy.

  * * *

  From the first words that flew out of your mouth, you owned your you-ness. You never backed down from what you wanted. You were defiant, strong and sexy, and quite flirty.

  * * *

  (Admit it, you were.)

  * * *

  I was hooked, and at the end of the night, I asked for your number because you were the most intriguing woman I’d ever met.

  * * *

  No one has kept me on my toes like you do. Apparently, I like being knocked off-kilter.

  * * *

  Then, we met again at my party, and I saw snippets of your tenacity and bits of your ruthless honesty. The first time we went to the chocolate shop, you showed me more of that deliciously naughty side, plus your intensity, your drive. I wanted more.

  * * *

  All the things I learned next floored me. Your strength, your bravery, and your ferocity.

  That’s when I started to fall for you in earnest.

  I fell in new ways when you met my grandmother. Watching the two of you interact felt a little like magic, and a little like everything I’d been missing in my life. Everything I’ve been terrified of for the last few years—closeness, connection, intimacy.

  * * *

  You gave all of yourself even under the guise of an understanding. And the whole while, I fooled myself into thinking no one would get hurt.

  * * *

  But I hurt you. Badly. And that’s the opposite of what I want to do. I want to make you feel amazing, because you deserve the neon billboard in Times Square at night.

  * * *

  You once said I only liked the chase, but that’s not true. I love chasing you, and I love catching you, and I don’t think either will ever stop. I’ll never truly know all of you because there’s more to learn every day. I want to understand the next layer of Bellamy. And the next, and the next.

  * * *

  Until the other night, I believed the risk of love outweighed the reward.

  * * *

  But when you walked away, I realized love with you is worth everything.

  * * *

  So here I am, asking for a third chance.

  * * *

  Love,

  Easton

  45

  Go Big or Go Home

  Nolan tosses a T-shirt into his suitcase. I point in horror at the wad of fabric. “Is that how you pack?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Roll it up,” I say, demonstrating how to fill a suitcase properly. “You roll the shirt, nice and tight.”

  “Yes, like an adult would do, not a teenager.” The feminine voice comes from the phone as Emerson FaceTimes us from San Francisco—Lombard Street, by the look of the steep hill she’s walking down.

  Nolan rolls his eyes. “I know how to pack.”

  “No, you don’t, man,” I say, grabbing the shirt and thrusting it at him. “Now, do what I showed you.”

  He sighs, all manner of aggrieved. “I thought we were talking about your lack of relationship skills, not my lack of YouTube travel tutorial skills.” He rolls the shirt in a tight cylinder than presents it. “Are you happy now?”

  I slow clap. “Well done.”

  “Yay! You’re learning,” Emerson cheers in a wildly sarcastic tone. She drops it, though, for me. “Okay, Easton. It’s been two days. How is the most epic grovel fest of all time going?”

  Nolan flashes a smug grin. “I want credit for that name.”

  “Take it,” I say. “That and a metro card will get you on a subway. Anyway, I wrote her a love letter.”

  Emerson’s eyes shine. “Ooh, there’s just something about the written word.”

  There is, indeed. “She’s recording a show this evening, but she wants to meet after. Here’s what she said.” I clear my throat and read Bellamy’s reply from last night, though I have it memorized. “I like this side of you a lot. Can you meet me tomorrow night after seven? I have my recording at six. Will send details on where.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Emerson offers.

  Maybe, but I’m not getting ahead of myself. She might ask me to meet outside the gym to say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ before she attacks forty stories on the StairMaster, post-show. I won’t make any presumptions.

  Before I’m free to focus on Bellamy, I have another thing to make right. I check my watch. “I’m due for a side trip on the grovel train. Time to see Victoire.”

  Nolan gives a low whistle. “Man, when you fuck up, you fuck all the way up.”

  “I’m all about go big or go home.”

  “Let the apology tour continue,” Emerson says, and I bid them goodbye and take off.

  Angeline sits regally at her desk, her face unreadable. Spine straight, shoulders back. Gaze intense.

  She’s not pleased, and with good reason. I feel like such a shit for letting her down. So I dig deep, and own my fuck-up.

  “I let you down at the party, and I sincerely apologize. You’re a business partner but I also care about you as a person, and I failed you on both counts the other night. I let a personal matter distract me, and I regret letting you down,” I say, and holy hell, this adulting shit hurts. But it’s a good hurt, like an intense workout.

  Angeline takes a weighty beat before she speaks, and in those few seconds, her expression softens. A bit of relief fills my veins. “It happens. I understand,” she says, then shrugs. “I was looking forward to meeting Max, but if he was more interested in meeting someone else, he wasn’t the one for me.”

  And . . . she has a point. “That is true. And I understand if you want to end our business relationship. I didn’t put out the caliber of product you signed on to partner with. I’ll refund the sponsorship money, of course.” I’d be a terrible businessman, though, if I didn’t do everything possible to salvage this connection. “But I hope you’ll stay on for the year we contracted for. A year of free sponsorship for the chance to correct my mistakes.”

  Her eyes pop. “Whoa. I didn’t see that coming.”

  I’ve said my piece, done what I can. Now I just give her time to process.

  She twirls in her chair a few inches left, then twirls back to the right. “What capsized you the other night? Was it the woman you kept talking to?”

  Busted.

  “Yes. I’m in love with her, and I sort of handled that realization badly,” I check myself with a self-mocking laugh. “There was no sort of. I handled it all badly. She deserved better, and I’m trying to win her back. She’s actually the one who helped find those Carpe Diem couples on Twitter.”

  Angeline gives an appreciative nod. “That’s a lovely gesture on her part. She’s the podcaster? The one who called you elitist?”

  “The one and only.”

  My erstwhile client picks up a gold pen and taps it against her chin, as if deep in thought. “And you’re trying to win her back?”

  “I am.”