Page 24

OLIVIA

Ijust posted the silly TikTok video of me eating dessert to advertise the new book, and not because I wanted to entertain my viewers. My publicist emailed me with instructions, and it’s not like I can really say no. This book release has exhausted me, more than any other release, and I’m tapped out on every level. I want to take a two month vacation in a treehouse somewhere with no WiFi, cellphone signal or power (so my phone can stay dead). Instead, I’m mentally trying to prepare to attend this charity event for the animal shelter and convince myself I can handle it if it’s for the animals. Holland is most likely tired of seeing my name flash on her screen, but if it weren’t for her, I’d have gone off the deep end by now and cancelled.

Dion said there are already a ridiculous amount of bids on my signed books, and it shouldn’t surprise me. Signed books by Cecilia Lloyd are a rare commodity, simply because I don’t sign books, or attend books signings. There are people involved in both of those situations, so I had no doubt people would pay silly money for the ones on auction. Dion also knew that when she asked me for them. I remind myself that this is for the animals, and I like animals more than I like people. I’m curled up on my couch with the leftover chocolate lava cake from my video, and the Home and Garden channel playing in the background. The fire is going, warming the whole place. Winter is setting in and the cold is on par with standing naked in Times Square with hundreds of people watching me — I hate it. My leather-bound note book is open and I’m trying to outline my next book. I got a gentle reminder from my agent earlier today that I still have commitments, and that my books don’t write themselves. But it’s not there. I’m plucking at a whole lot of nothing, and everything I do write down feels inferior in comparison to the book I just published. The problem with writing a good book, or in my case a great one, the next one has to be better and that’s a whole heap of pressure. Maybe because the last book was so real, I can’t find that sort of inspiration again. Right now I just want to toss the note book into the fireplace and watch it burn.

WYD?

Amelia texts me in abbreviations because she knows I hate it. Best friends, that’s what they do, irritate you on purpose because they love you.

Having a minor mental breakdown, panicking that I’ll never write another book while eating chocolate lava cake in my pjs. Wanna join me?

Be right there, I’ll bring the gin, is her response. Bless her.

We’ve been friends since high school and, surprisingly, she’s the only one I didn’t chase away with my weirdness. Amelia has the ability to make things right in my world, so having her over is probably what I need. I open TikTok and watch the video of Harlan I saved, the one his sister posted. I should just stop watching the damn thing and delete it, but I don’t want to. Call me a glutton for punishment, or just plain stupid, either one works at this point.

My notifications are going haywire after my video, and the little red dot is making my eye twitch so I open it, scroll the comments, and like them. I even reply to one or two. Then it catches my eye.

@H.W^ters followed you.

@H.W^ters liked your video.

He isn’t on social media, and other than that post his sister made and his business website, the man doesn’t exist. I’ve used every resource at my disposal (the moral ones) and still couldn’t find him. I click the profile out of curiosity, and there he is. Well, it’s just his face, but at least I know it’s him.

The only video in his feed is a duet with his sister’s video. I know I shouldn’t watch it. I shouldn’t! But we’ve already established I’m struck stupid when it comes to Harlan Waters.

So, I watch it.

“I’m not applying to be anyone’s boyfriend. I’m only interested in desserts.” It’s an advertisement for her bakery, that’s all it is, and I’ll keep telling myself that until I believe it. I watch it again, trying not to vomit, and before it can get worse, I power off my phone, close my note book and toss them both in the fire. I know getting a new phone is a pain in the ass, but I need a break, and if I have my phone in my hand all the time I’ll become obsessed. A phone is replaceable, my mental health is not, and going to an iStore to buy a new one is better than being admitted to a psychiatric hospital because I drove myself mad when I should have been practicing better self-care.

“What is that smell?” Amelia says, coming in the front door without knocking. She’s the only other person who has a key to my apartment.

“That would be my phone and my moleskin burning,” I shrug and take the grocery bag from her.

“Do I want to know why you tossed your phone into the fire? Or are we just drinking?”

“Drinking,” I say, unpacking the bag.

“I didn’t have gin, so I brought chocolate liqueur, whiskey and ice cream so we can make milkshakes.” She knows me well. I take out the blender and we start making adult shakes. “You okay, Liv?” she asks, pouring mine into one of two hurricane glasses.

“Probably not. I just threw my phone into the fire,” I reply, unable to articulate exactly what the hell is wrong with me. “Harlan followed me on TikTok.”

“That made you toss your phone and a forty dollar note book in the fireplace? Not judging, but that’s a slight overreaction, don’t you think?” Amelia doesn’t judge me when I do crazy things, she usually laughs with me. If she says I’m over-reacting I might be. “If this is your plan going forward, take the sim card out first, and switch to cheaper brands, okay? Just some advice.” I didn’t think about the sim card thing, that would’ve been a much better plan, but it didn’t feature in my anxiety-fueled solution.

“I’ll make a note of that, thanks.” I roll my eyes. “I’m just overwhelmed right now, and I don’t know where to begin to fix shit because, technically, I should be the happiest person ever.”

“You’re not happy?”

“I don’t know, I am and I’m not. I have the career and the home and the money and the notoriety. I shouldn’t want more, but fuck me it’s lonely, Amelia. I sit here and think maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, it’s a lot of things that set off my anxiety. Maybe it’s the source of my anxiety? I don’t know, I just want to wake up not alone and drink coffee with my person, is that stupid?” I know Amelia thinks love is a sham, it’s why she goes through partners like she does underwear.

“Not stupid, but you know that to meet a person you have to go near people. Right?”

“Hence the crippling anxiety, single status and current mental health situation,” I sigh. “This charity thing has me in a state. And yes, I know I’ll be fine once I get there, but it’s the getting there that fucks me up.” Amelia hugs me, which is awkward because she hates hugs more than I do. “Stop,” I push her away.

“I think Harlan has you in a state, and you’re blaming the charity event,” she says. “But I’m not your shrink, and that’s just my opinion.” She isn’t wrong, this mess in my head started getting proper crazy after that night, and when I finished the book and left the hotel.

“I liked him, like actually had a conversation without freaking out and enjoyed his company, even if he was bearish. The sex was phenomenal and I left because he wasn’t single, and now he’s single—”

“And?” she interrupts.