The Break(77)

She definitely hasn’t said that in interviews.

“Should we change the subject?” Gabe asks.

“Would you like that?” I ask back, a challenge in my eyes.

Gabe raises his eyebrows. “I like you, June, and I think you’re going to be good for my buddy, here,” he says, and somehow we all laugh, and we do, eventually, change the subject. Gabe drinks more as the night goes on and gets looser and (admittedly) a little less interesting. But it’s sweet how he becomes more affectionate with Rowan.

Harrison does the opposite: he winds tighter and becomes sharper; he starts to ignore Rowan and Gabe and focus on me. Somewhere around midnight, I need to get out of there. I’m ready to be alone with Harrison; I want to see what he says when it’s just us, to see how he looks at me, to feel what it’s like to kiss him.

“I have an early morning tomorrow,” I say, and that gets all of us bemoaning our work schedules (which are benign compared with most New Yorkers’, but none of us call each other on that), and then Harrison gets the check and pays the entire bill. At first I think he’s showing off, but then Rowan says to me, “He never lets us pay.”

“I’ve made him millions, sweetie,” Gabe says with a laugh, his voice slurred with alcohol.



“Yeah, not quite millions, man,” Harrison says back.

“Close enough,” Gabe says, and there’s the tiniest flick of aggression there. But then they both laugh, and Harrison says, “True.”

Rowan’s staring wistfully at Harrison and I can’t really read it. I think she’s just tired, but then Harrison catches her glance, too, and he’s the one that watches as she carefully gets out of the booth. She seems markedly more pregnant than she did at the beginning of the night. Gabe is off toward the exit door, but Harrison hangs back. “Do you need a hand,” he asks Rowan, his head dipped toward her more intimately than I would have expected.

“I’m so swollen and tired at night now,” Rowan says softly. Any enthusiasm that was in her voice a few hours ago is gone. I have the odd feeling that I should leave them alone. I head outside to where Gabe is standing on the corner, looking up at the stars like a proper drunk person.

“Hi,” I say.

“June!” he says. “Look how clear the night is.” He tips his head back even farther. “Usually you can’t see the stars like this in the city.”

I look up. There’s a beautiful, almost full moon and a smattering of stars. He’s right: it’s clear and gorgeous.

“You know,” he says to me, swaying a little. Passersby on the street give him a wide berth. “Harrison is one of the good ones.”

“Oh yeah?” I say back.

“Yeah, truly,” he says. “He’s like a brother to me. There are so many things I’ve done that I shouldn’t have, and Rowan and Harrison keep forgiving me and pulling me back from the edge.”

He’s too drunk for me to ask what he means; I don’t want him telling me a truth he wouldn’t have otherwise. I just nod, keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn’t step too close to the curb as he studies the sky.

“How’s your revision coming?” I ask, thinking of the two of us days ago on his back patio going over notes on his screenplay.



His gaze falls from the sky and narrows on me. “Rowan read it and tore it apart,” he says, features folding. “She said she’s not even rooting for the main character.” His voice gets angrier when he says, “She doesn’t always get that it’s the actor that determines a lot of that. It’s different in her books; she only has words to get the reader on her character’s side. But I have the power of Hollywood behind me. Have you ever not rooted for Tom Hanks?”

I laugh. “I guess that’s true,” I say, and then out come Harrison and Rowan. Rowan’s face is ashen. “I’m exhausted,” she says to me, and then to Gabe, “We have to cab it, my feet are killing me.”

We all say things to each other about how we’ll have to do it again soon, and it feels real; I have the sneaking suspicion we will start seeing each other like this. I watch Rowan and Gabe get into the taxi, and then Harrison turns to me. “Should I get you a cab?”

“What’s my other option?” I ask, smiling at him.

He’s ready for this moment, for me. He extends a long arm. “See that window right there?” he asks, pointing downtown a block or so. “That’s my apartment.”

“I’ve always wanted to check out SoHo real estate,” I say. “So I should probably take you up on the invite.”

“Oh, that wasn’t an invite,” he says.

My cheeks burn a little, but he’s smiling.

“It wasn’t?” I ask.

“Nope,” he says. “This is.” He comes closer, right into my favorite moment, and kisses me, and his lips are so warm and the kiss is so incredibly sweet and good and I swear I could faint right there, but his strong hand is on my back, pulling me against him. His other hand slips over the back of my neck and it sends chills over my skin. I want everything about this, and the want nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Let’s go to my place,” he says, and we do.





PART III