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My fingers froze, hovering over my laptop keyboard when he shuffled beside me.

I knew I should have done this at the coffee table. But when I tried getting out of bed, Adam wouldn't let me go. Plus, it's so goddamn late, if he wakes up now, he'll have a hard time going back to sleep. Actually, maybe not considering he'd be hungover.

Once Adam fell asleep beside me, I couldn't no matter how hard I tried. I didn't want to toss and turn in case it woke him up so I just lay there, thinking about things. I thought about the conversation I had with Emma and aunt Janice.

After that, Emma got up since her mom was calling her, reminding her to eat dinner. I wasn't hungry so I didn't eat and Adam was too drunk to tell it was dinner time. Aunt Janice continued talking to me. I told her practically everything that happened and after a while, Remy and Aspen decided to join us. When I couldn't talk about it any longer, Remy and Aspen filled in the blanks. And everybody gave me the same advice.

"Are you going to hold it against him forever, Em?" Remy asked, lifting her brows. "I mean, he's trying to make up for it, isn't he? You're acting hot and cold. That's not fair."

"I'm not acting hot and cold, I just don't know how to act around him."

"Well, how do you feel around him?" Aspen questioned.

While waiting for my answer, we all sat in silence. And in the still silence, I realized I liked him. I liked Adam. I loved him once and maybe I could again. But that didn't entitle me to have him. That's how it was in the past. I liked him but... My right person, our wrong time.

"Happy," I mumbled, staring at my hands while I fidgeted with absolutely nothing.

"You like him, don't you?" Aunt Janice asked me, a knowing look already displayed on her face.

"Then stop fighting with him, Emilia," Remy said with a small shrug.

"I..." I trailed off uselessly.

"Think about it," Aspen began, "wouldn't you rather argue with him than laugh with anyone else?"

"Anyone else like Brett," Remy added. "Can you really move on from him and act like you don't love him?"

"It's not love," I reasoned.

"But it's not nothing either," Aspen replied.

"Em," Remy spoke again. "You told me this yourself. You knew you liked him when he made you nervous and your heart would beat faster when you saw him. And what did you tell me when you thought you loved him? Right before you two had that fallout?"

I paused, thinking back to that day. "That I knew I loved him because I felt calmer with him than without him."

"So tell me. How do you feel now? Nervous, right?"

I nodded.

"It doesn't have to be love right away just because you two have history," Aunt Janice added. "But at least admit you like him."

"I do! I do, okay? But that doesn't mean we can just talk—"

"Yes, it does," they all replied in sync. "He's been sitting there rambling to that bartender about you the whole night. I was there," Aspen scoffed. "He really likes you, Em. I don't know if he did or didn't in the past, but he does now. Don't lose that over nothing."

And now here I am.

I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow morning when he wakes up if he remembers everything, but at the same time, I didn't want him to forget what happened tonight. I did like him. A lot. But I won't say it until he does. I want to hear it from him. I never told him when we were younger, scared that he'd reject me or say he doesn't feel the same way. I know that is not likely to happen this time around but it's still intimidating to be the first one to say it. I wanted to hear it from him, sober.

I tried pushing his leg off mine but he groaned softly and pulled it back up. He won't let me get out of bed and I have to write. I finally had a new idea while thinking about everything and I have to get it down before it leaves my mind and I forget all about it.

When he shuffled more, I knew he was awake. He stretched, a small squeak coming from the back of his throat.

I turned to look at him as he opened his eyes, rolling onto his side to face me. "Good morning," I said softly.

He frowned and then rolled the other way, checking the time on his phone and then rolling back to me. He rubbed his eyes. "Why are you awake at three in the morning?" he asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

"I'm writing," I answered, glancing at my screen.

"At this hour?"

I shrugged. "I had a new idea, I had to get it down. Did the typing wake you up?"

"Kind of."

"Well, you wouldn't let me go, otherwise, I would have sat at the table."

"I don't care," he sighed, closing his eyes again but whining, "It's so hot in here."

"Are you still drunk?" I watched in amusement as he buried his face into a pillow.

"Maybe just a little bit," he mumbled, flipping onto his back. He unbuttoned his sleeves and started unbuttoning his shirt. I looked away quickly and continued typing, resisting the urge to glance when I heard the shirt land on the floor with a rustle. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed and inching closer to me, throwing a leg over both of mine again.

"I told you, I'm writing," I said, still typing.

"Something new?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Are you ever going to tell me what Tainted Hearts is about?"

I looked at him as he propped up his elbow and rested his head on a closed fist, opening his eyes and looking at me. "You suddenly don't seem so drunk," I commented.

"Consider I am. Tell me."

I paused and thought about it. "No."

"I'll just look it up."

"Why didn't you already?"

"Because I wanted to hear it from the author herself. Tell me," he whined, shaking his leg and mine under it, causing my laptop to shift.

"Adam," I scolded, catching my laptop.

"Tell me," he repeated.

"Go back to sleep."

"I can't. Why won't you tell me? I know something else we can talk about then."

"What?"

"Everything you said when I was drunk."

"You swore you'd pretend not to remember."

"I didn't swear on anything," he scoffed. "Let's talk about our feelings then, Emmy."

"No."

"Yes. Let's talk about how we finally—"

"No," I said, louder, facing him. "Please, no."

"Then tell me about the book. Make it a bedtime story."

I hesitated, my eyes narrowing. "I'd be pretty upset if my book puts you to sleep."

"Just tell me, don't beat around the bush."

I sighed, scratching my temple and closing my laptop, relieved that I'd gotten at least the basic plot down. "It's about a guy and a girl," I shrugged. "Her name's Adrianna, his name's Jason." He hummed, staring at me. I fidgeted with my nails, not meeting his gaze. "She's a painter and he's this big hotshot actor, that's it."

"Emilia," he said.

I sighed, throwing my head back and closing my eyes. "They used to be... best friends."

Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that.

I glanced at him and he didn't seem surprised, more so dumbfounded. All he could say was a small, "Oh."

Oh, but it gets worse.

"And while growing up..." I paused. They were neighbors but saying that would make it so obvious that I put bits and pieces of us in my book. A little more than bits and pieces, actually. "She loved him," I said instead. I mean, it's not like I ever told him I loved him. So, he shouldn't know about that. "But when they're around fifteen, sixteen, he more or less disappears. His parents had a divorce and he had to move with his dad. He didn't really know where he was going so he never told her that and once he left, they didn't stay in touch. They tried but he got too busy for her, she got too busy for him. They were too occupied trying to distract themselves.

"Then um, years later, they meet again in London, which is where he lives. She goes there for an art exhibition where her paintings are being displayed and sold and she made this one painting that she never wanted to sell but she gets talked into it. It's a painting of this uh, this tree in his old backyard that they used to sit under as kids all the time. And somebody buys the painting but she changes her mind. She doesn't want to sell it, so she goes to speak to the buyer and..."

"It's him?"

I nodded. "He takes the painting anyway and they're not sure what to do or how to feel but they realize they should keep in touch. So, they decide to meet once a month. Sometimes in their hometown, sometimes in London, other times wherever he's shooting a movie or wherever she's attending an exhibition. They meet each other for ten months."

"And do they fall in love? Over those ten months?"

I nodded, "They do. Crazy in love. It only takes ten meetings with tons of phone calls in between for them to fall madly in love but this time, it's not just her. But at the end of the day, he lives in London and she lives in... Boston." I didn't even check for his reaction. There are glimpses of us in that book, glimpses of him, and anybody who knows our history could see it clearly. I didn't even try to hide it but I never in a million years thought I'd be telling him this. I thought he'd never even hear about it.

He paused for a minute. "How does it end?"

"Buy it and find out," I shrugged, clearing my throat, going to open my laptop again but he closed it shut.

"How does it end, Emmy? Do they end up together?"

I turned to him. He looked so desperate to know. "They do."

He relaxed a bit, lifting his hand from my laptop. "How?" he asked.

"She ends up moving to London. Fate brings them together again. She gets a really good opportunity to run and open a joint art gallery with another famous painter in London. They move in together, live together, fall deeper in love."

"And?"

"And that's it. I left it open-ended. No marriage."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be too perfect. It was better for Adrianna and Jason to just be together without the title. In my head, they did get married somewhere down the line, but not everybody believes in marriage. And if someone read my book, I still wanted them to believe in Adrianna and Jason."

"I believe in them."

I stared at him, my heart picking up its pace. "Why?" I questioned. "You're not really the romantic type."

"I believe in them because it's us, Rubes."

My heart stuttered at the lost nickname.

"It's us. And we'll make it work too." Before I could say anything, he took my laptop and put it away. "Now go to sleep. Unless you want to start talking about our feelings." He draped an arm over my waist and pulled me to lie down. "Go to sleep, Emmy." He realized my lamp was on and let out a breath, moving closer and leaning over me to turn it off, holding himself up on one hand and hovering above me.

I stared at him, taking a peek at his naked torso. I lifted my eyes back to his when I realized he was looking at me, watching in amusement.

He turned the lamp off and rolled off of me, keeping an arm around my waist. "Good night," he said.

"Good night," I mumbled.

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