the floor, rifled through it as if through the California dust searching for gold nuggets, and retrieved it, with my hand practically shaking. Message.
“Taking you to this incredible restaurant called Animal, you’ll love it.”
I paused, looking around my sweet apartment. We’d decorated it together, lugging West Elm furniture and flea market finds, splurging here and there on curtains and crystal. I took a deep breath and somehow managed to exhale the melancholy of that bittersweet space we’d inhabited.
I looked back down at the phone, with the text message sitting there. From Finn Schiller.
“My tummy’s growling already, so to speak” I wrote back. I felt my forehead get hot. I think my temperature rose a decimal point with each text, and now I was in full fever mode. I was burning up for Finn, and despite Wylie’s dear heart, I didn’t see myself cooling off anytime soon.
Chapter 20
Though dreams can be deceiving,
like faces are to hearts, they serve for sweet relieving,
when fantasy and reality lie too far apart.
—Anonymous
T he next ten days flew by. Wylie had resumed his semi-Cullen schedule of vampire night gigs, and so we were conveniently ships in the night in the apartment. We’d pass each other with stilted exchanges and go through the motions, but my pounding heart was in L.A. I’d downloaded news of our break to my sister, who was supportive yet naturally concerned for Wylie, as they had grown to be family. But just when she would ask after him and get my permission to reach out to say hi to him, in the next breath she’d giddily beg for updates about Finn. And I had plenty to spare. Our text velocity was spiking and the length picking up characters with each zapped greeting.
I worked up a storm, fielding calls while juggling adorable texts from Finn that either cracked me up with hyenalike laughter or made me melt into my ergochair (“I fucking can’t stop thinking about you, Hazel.”)
“I can’t, either” I had replied.
And then, something novel.
“Can I call you?” he wrote back.
The thought hadn’t occurred to me! “Sure!” Moments later my phone rang.
“Hello?” I giggled, timpani in my chest thumping.
“Hi, I almost forgot these are actual working phones!” He laughed. Oh my god. His throaty voice made me swoon.
“I know! We’re like texting teens or something.”
“Seriously,” he said, pausing. “Hazel . . . I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me feel like a fucking eighth grader.”
Okay. So I wasn’t delusional. Here it was.
“Me, too,” I said, more solemnly than I’d expected.
“I can’t wait to see you,” he said. “The thought makes me want to explode.”
“Me, too,” I said, my blood rushing through me like crashing tsunamis of hot liquid.
“It’s weird, right?”
“Yeah. It is,” I acknowledged of our barely nascent friendship. “I’d been conflicted but now . . . I’m just not. This is too amazing.”
“I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around it but I can’t.”
“I’ve completely abandoned myself to it. I can’t stop thinking about you,” I gushed. The weird part was, I didn’t even care about my candid verbal unleashing. “I don’t want to stop thinking about you, either,” I added, softly.
“Oh my god, you just made me hard,” he said. The heat surged downward. “I’m walking on my deck fucking pitching a tent for you.”
I felt a surge of heat jolt through my entire body. This is going to sound positively juvenile, but no one had ever really talked dirty to me on the phone! I felt a bolt sear m’down yonders. I felt blushed yet turned on, like the Church Chat lady who needed to pop in a Lifesaver and suck until the hole became big enough for the ring to fit on her finger.
“Finn, I have to kiss you,” I whispered.
“It’s all I think about,” he whispered back.
It was too surreal. This was now officially past the point of no return. I knew it was wrong, but you only
“Taking you to this incredible restaurant called Animal, you’ll love it.”
I paused, looking around my sweet apartment. We’d decorated it together, lugging West Elm furniture and flea market finds, splurging here and there on curtains and crystal. I took a deep breath and somehow managed to exhale the melancholy of that bittersweet space we’d inhabited.
I looked back down at the phone, with the text message sitting there. From Finn Schiller.
“My tummy’s growling already, so to speak” I wrote back. I felt my forehead get hot. I think my temperature rose a decimal point with each text, and now I was in full fever mode. I was burning up for Finn, and despite Wylie’s dear heart, I didn’t see myself cooling off anytime soon.
Chapter 20
Though dreams can be deceiving,
like faces are to hearts, they serve for sweet relieving,
when fantasy and reality lie too far apart.
—Anonymous
T he next ten days flew by. Wylie had resumed his semi-Cullen schedule of vampire night gigs, and so we were conveniently ships in the night in the apartment. We’d pass each other with stilted exchanges and go through the motions, but my pounding heart was in L.A. I’d downloaded news of our break to my sister, who was supportive yet naturally concerned for Wylie, as they had grown to be family. But just when she would ask after him and get my permission to reach out to say hi to him, in the next breath she’d giddily beg for updates about Finn. And I had plenty to spare. Our text velocity was spiking and the length picking up characters with each zapped greeting.
I worked up a storm, fielding calls while juggling adorable texts from Finn that either cracked me up with hyenalike laughter or made me melt into my ergochair (“I fucking can’t stop thinking about you, Hazel.”)
“I can’t, either” I had replied.
And then, something novel.
“Can I call you?” he wrote back.
The thought hadn’t occurred to me! “Sure!” Moments later my phone rang.
“Hello?” I giggled, timpani in my chest thumping.
“Hi, I almost forgot these are actual working phones!” He laughed. Oh my god. His throaty voice made me swoon.
“I know! We’re like texting teens or something.”
“Seriously,” he said, pausing. “Hazel . . . I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me feel like a fucking eighth grader.”
Okay. So I wasn’t delusional. Here it was.
“Me, too,” I said, more solemnly than I’d expected.
“I can’t wait to see you,” he said. “The thought makes me want to explode.”
“Me, too,” I said, my blood rushing through me like crashing tsunamis of hot liquid.
“It’s weird, right?”
“Yeah. It is,” I acknowledged of our barely nascent friendship. “I’d been conflicted but now . . . I’m just not. This is too amazing.”
“I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around it but I can’t.”
“I’ve completely abandoned myself to it. I can’t stop thinking about you,” I gushed. The weird part was, I didn’t even care about my candid verbal unleashing. “I don’t want to stop thinking about you, either,” I added, softly.
“Oh my god, you just made me hard,” he said. The heat surged downward. “I’m walking on my deck fucking pitching a tent for you.”
I felt a surge of heat jolt through my entire body. This is going to sound positively juvenile, but no one had ever really talked dirty to me on the phone! I felt a bolt sear m’down yonders. I felt blushed yet turned on, like the Church Chat lady who needed to pop in a Lifesaver and suck until the hole became big enough for the ring to fit on her finger.
“Finn, I have to kiss you,” I whispered.
“It’s all I think about,” he whispered back.
It was too surreal. This was now officially past the point of no return. I knew it was wrong, but you only
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