Rugged(18)

“Truly, excel spreadsheets and I know how to get down and dirty. I’ve also got to arrange your flight out to LA for the pitch.”

“Oh. Right,” he says, sounding a little uncomfortable. “I forgot there was a trip element to this whole trip thing.”

“Come on, you lived in New York. LA’s not much different.”

“Apart from the traffic, the smog, and the *s. Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “There are plenty of *s in New York. I know the drill. I’m in. We’ll pitch like our lives depend on it.”

Which they do, in a way.

“Fantastic. You won’t regret this. I swear.” I hold out my hand. “See you tomorrow, then? We can maybe film a little at the hardware store. Show you in your natural habitat.” I grin.

“Sounds good. Tomorrow,” he says, shaking on it. His hand is rough, callused but warm. Mine feels small and fragile in his grip. It’s not the worst feeling in the world. Our eye contact lingers, and I fend off another round of intense blushing until he finally lets my hand go. Did that long handshake mean something? Or was his mind just elsewhere?

Don’t be stupid, Laurel. Time to nip this in the bud. Clearing my throat, I make a decision that I hope is for the best. “Look, Flint. I’m really glad we’ll be working together, and I look forward to continuing our professional relationship, but I just want to say that whatever happened last night—”

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says, cutting me off. “That was really, uh, out of character for me. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was—”

“Me either,” I blurt. “I mean, clearly if we’re going to be working together…”

He nods. “Right. We should probably just forget it ever happened.”

“Right,” I agree. “Onward and upward. See you tomorrow bright and early.” I tuck the camera under my arm and we stand there awkwardly for a moment.

“I guess I should head out,” Flint says, leading us out of the workshop. I try to ignore the pang I feel as I follow him across the yard, back toward the house.





7


“Would you like me to sort your chakras while you wait for your eggs?” the waitress asks me the next day. I blink at her, just starting to feel the effects of my first coffee. “Like, not to make you feel awkward, but your crown and your third eye are so close together.” I’m back at the local diner where I had that first date (meeting, Laurel, it was a meeting) with Flint—and now that I’m sober I really notice the cute checkered tablecloths, the antique bric-a-brac decorating the walls, the sugar bowls shaped like hens. It’s adorable, but my waitress definitely ups the quirk factor.

“I…thank you?” I say, not sure about the chakra thing.

The girl’s young, with long, honey blond hair and woven hemp bracelets around her wrists. Turquoise stones hang from her ears. Her nametag reads JESSA, and below in marker, she’s written NAMASTE. “I can feel that your energy is in need of healing,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I can try a little Reiki on you, but I’m afraid it might be too punishing for your aura right now.”

“Eh, I’m okay. Can I just get a refill on my coffee?” I ask, putting down my empty cup. She places her hand above my head, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.

“You’re a traveler wending her way through life. It’s my privilege to offer sustenance on your journey.” She floats away to get the coffee. I’m not sure how PC her moccasins are, but I’m not going to give her a hard time about it.

The door opens behind me, bell tinkling as a customer enters. Callie walks over, rolling the twins in their tandem stroller. I wave at Lily, who’s got her whole fist in her mouth. She waves back, gleefully. Callum shakes a ring of plastic keys with huge enthusiasm.

“Sorry I’m late, Cal spit up and I had to give him the fastest change known to man. Clark Kent has nothing on me.” Callie slides in, and Jessa brings us our coffee. Callie raises her eyebrows. “Hey, I didn’t know you were on shift today,” she says, reaching up and hugging Jessa. The hippie girl kisses her cheek.

“You two know each other?” I ask, surprised. Jessa and Callie don’t seem the type to run in the same circles. Maybe Jessa helped her with a homebirth?

“We’re sisters,” Callie says, shrugging. “Jessa was our parents’ later life miracle baby.”

“I think it’s so beautiful that I was chosen to bridge the final gap in our family, one they didn’t even know was there,” Jessa says, smiling dreamily. “It’s also beautiful to think of middle aged people, whose desires are suppressed by society, still engaged in passionate coupling.”

“Not so great when the people in question are your parents,” Callie says, making a grossed out face. “Jess, can I have a short stack please?”

“With my blessing.” Jessa’s serene expression gets excited when she spies her niece and nephew. “Hello little numbkins!” Jessa gets on her knees and makes smoochie faces before leaving to get the order started.

“So. How’d it go yesterday? Is my brother Hollywood ready?” Callie leans forward, all excitement.

“Well, we’ve got to finish up the sizzle reel.” I force myself not to check my watch. Time is money, Flint. Where are you? “Then we hop a plane back to LaLa land, do the pitch in person. The executives fawn over the rugged man of the east, we sign our contracts, and the deal is pretty much done.” I’m making that all sound a lot easier and more guaranteed than it is, but screw it. I need to believe it’s that simple. There are no back up plans. I’ve Rory Gilmore’d it to the max and applied only to the top three Ivies in the country. Metaphorically speaking, of course.