He’s watching someone. He’s not the only one. The whole room is watching the latest Bond girl, Jacinda Lockwood, resplendent in a wine-red gown that floats on her skin as lovingly and intimate as a nightgown. She’s dancing with someone twice her age.

Bond watches from afar, but we see his eyes up close. They’re full of longing.

Lockwood looks up from her partner’s shoulder and sees him. The dance ends and she walks off the dance floor, away from Bond.

He deposits his drink on a passing tray, and then the transformation begins. Parker walks toward her, his shoulders straightening, his hand smoothing back his hair, his glasses deposited into his pocket.

By the time he reaches her, he’s another person.

He pulls Lockwood into his arms and they drift to the dance floor. They dance closely, the whole room watching as Bond wraps his arm around her waist. His other hand traces her collarbone, and with a not-too-gentle push, she swoons backward and he dips her, long and slow, drawing a half circle with her body.

When she’s pulled back upright, she—and the rest of the room—has fallen in love with Gabe Parker’s Bond.

It’s no wonder Jacinda Lockwood married him less than a week into filming.

Now

Chapter 15

Chapter
15

I’M MAKING A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

“I should cancel,” I say.

“Should you?” Katie asks.

She’s doing that thing that I hate.

“I should,” I say.

Katie shrugs. She’s sitting on my couch, her hair in that haphazard bun of hers—the one that always seems so effortless on her but looks like a hairy cinnamon roll whenever I attempt it. She’s reading a magazine and seems unconcerned with my dilemma. I’m fairly certain she’s waiting for me to leave so she can sage my entire apartment. According to her the vibes in here are very destructive to my well-being.

I’m pretty sure the only thing in my apartment that’s destructive to my well-being is me.

“I’m going to buy you a plant while you’re gone,” she says, still looking at her magazine. “Maybe two.”

“I’m just going to kill it,” I say. “Don’t make it a double homicide.”

“I’ll get you an un-killable plant.” She flips a page. “You need it.”

When we left New York, Katie packed up her entire—already overstuffed—apartment and had her life shipped across the continent. I shoved four boxes of books into the corner of her moving truck, filled two suitcases with clothes, and left everything else behind.

It took Katie three days to re-create her cozy, colorful bohemian home. I’ve been in my place a year and I still haven’t bought a bed frame. The couch is from the “As Is” section of Ikea, the table from my parents’ attic, and the dresser from the last person who lived here.