He didn’t argue, which basically confirmed my suspicions. I knelt to give his still-unnamed dog a scratch behind her ears. She rolled over and showed me her belly, so I rubbed that like a magic lamp before I stood.

“Thank you for your time,” I said, realizing how formal I sounded.

It was how I should have conducted the entire interview, but it was a little too late for that.

The corners of Gabe’s mouth quirked upward, barely hiding a smile.

“You’re very welcome,” he said.

“Okay, well.” I started backing toward the door. “Bye, then.”

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye.” I lifted a hand as I got to the door, finally turning away.

“Chani,” he said.

Dammit, he was really good at saying my name.

“Yeah?” I twisted around quickly.

Too quickly to play it off as cool but I tried anyways.

“Yeah?” I asked again.

This time he did smile.

“Call me if you want to go to the premiere,” he said. “We’d have fun.”

GO FUG YOURSELF

THE FASHION AT THE SHARED HEARTS PREMIERE

True Blue

MATTHIAS’S FORMER CO-STAR GABE PARKER attended to lend his support, though he didn’t come alone. Parker’s date was unknown, but her sparkly blue number was a delight to the senses. Wonder if she wore it to match with Parker’s favorite blue suit. As all Fuggirls know, the real way to show a man that you care is through your sartorial choices.

Now

Chapter 7

Chapter
7

THE RESTAURANT IS STILL AROUND, which is an accomplishment in itself. Even though I’ve driven by this place on multiple occasions since I moved back to L.A., I’ve childishly averted my eyes every time I passed the block. And I’ve certainly never gone inside.

I would think about that beer, though, and my mouth would water.

I park on a side street, and check three things before I get out of the car. I check that my shirt—with its once and forever wayward middle button—is neatly clasped. I check that my notebook is still in my bag. And I check my chin for the little black hair that I’m always plucking and yet still manages to find a way to grow back at the most inconvenient times.

It has decided not to join me today, and for that I’m grateful.

The interior of the pub is the same. Jarringly so.

I find myself looking for the waitress—Madison—when I walk through. Part of me expects to see her—and for her to still be pregnant. It’s ridiculous, I know, but the whole thing already feels surreal. It only becomes more surreal when I realize that even if Madison still works here, she’s now the mother of a ten-year-old.

The passage of time suddenly feels real and oppressive.