Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
You know it’s both.
* * *
Dilemma solved,
Bellamy
Friday Morning…
* * *
Dear Easton,
* * *
I hope you’re having a good day. Can you meet in person this afternoon? There are things I’d like to discuss.
* * *
My best,
Bellamy
24
The Potential of Gift Bangs
As I tug on running clothes on Friday morning, I brace myself for further fallout from Bellamy’s podcast piece. It was released three days ago now, but The Dating Pool has it featured on the homepage this morning.
Warily, I log into the Carpe Diem database on my phone, but nobody has canceled for the next party.
Weird.
Tucking my phone into the pocket of my shorts, I head over to The High Line to meet TJ and Nolan. We hit the running path quickly, and I catch them up on all things Bellamy, then ask the big question. “How long will it take for the aftershocks of her report to hit my business?”
TJ scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You’re thinking Miss Million Frogs is a poisonous one?”
Nolan shudders. “Romance is dangerous,” he says, craning his neck to check out his spine. “Can you still see the tire tracks on my back?”
“They’re fading, but I can definitely see the scars where you were run over,” I say.
We are all comrades in arms, burned by love in different ways. I lost the first woman I loved. Nolan was screwed over by a woman years ago. And last year, TJ’s boyfriend dumped him publicly.
On a TV news show.
Talk about ouch.
“I just can’t figure out why Bellamy wants to get together today,” I add as we run. “The piece is done. We’ve moved on. What’s the point?”
As we pass a couple of power walkers, Nolan tells me, “Don’t look a potential gift bang in the mouth.”
I shoot him the side-eye. “We’re meeting at Piece of Cake. Pretty sure it’s not for a slice and a screw.”
Nolan shrugs. “Don’t bet against that shop. That bathroom has a lot of room for bend-over-the-sink banging. Emerson and I covered that place a year ago.”
TJ nearly skids to a stop, slamming a palm against Nolan’s chest. “You screwed the co-host of your show in the cake shop? That is rich.”
As they resume their pace and catch up with me, Nolan laughs. “No. Please. Emerson is just a friend. I was simply remarking on bathroom size for bangability.”
“Yet, that’s not any less weird. Is bathroom bangability a talking point on your show?” I ask.
Nolan hums thoughtfully. “No, but good point. Might need to add that to our restaurant reviews.”
TJ turns to me, pointing a thumb at our friend. “He’s a lost cause in the civilization department.”
“That is true,” I agree.
“But you, E? I haven’t seen you this worked up about a woman since you met Anna,” TJ adds.
When I met Anna at an alumni event six years ago, it was hook, line, and sinker for me. Getting over her death three years ago wasn’t easy, but I did it. Now I’m on the other side. Still, it’s odd for my friend to compare the two women—one I loved and lived with, and one I want desperately, think about constantly, and can’t figure out no matter how hard I try.
“But they’re not the same at all,” I insist. “When I met Anna, we started dating right away. There was no . . . animosity. No issues. No rejection.”
“Right. There was no conflict, so you fell for Anna quickly. But you’ve met other women, worked with other women, dated other women since her. And no one—not a single woman—has gotten you in a lather like this one has.”
“I’m not in a lather,” I say.
“Lather,” Nolan coughs under his breath.
TJ lifts a doubtful brow my way. “Bellamy is kind of all you’ve talked about when we’ve seen you lately. Maybe it’s a sign. A giant neon sign.”
“Tell us what happens next, TJ,” Nolan says. “Write us his story, bro.”
“Should I get out my pen?” TJ asks him.
“I bet your pen is ready for action.”
TJ pumps a fist. “Yes! You walked right into that . . . pen is,” he says, drawing out the two words, like we couldn’t figure it out. “Drinks are on you next time, Nolan. Personally, I would have phrased it . . . my pen. As in, my pen is mighty. My pen is heavy. My pen is sturdy.”
“Dammit,” Nolan grumbles. “How do you trick me into a dick word every time?”
“I’m smart like that,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “And a champion at the Don’t Say Penis, Cock, or Dick Unless You Mean It game.”
“You do have an excellent detector for the use of pen is,” I say drily.
TJ doffs an imaginary hat. “But to return to Nolan’s request, here’s what I’d write . . . Our hero, Easton Ford, heads into Piece of Cake this afternoon to meet the woman he can’t get out of his head. He’s still pissed she tore him to pieces on her show, but he respects her, and he wants to sleep with her. He also kind of has a big thing for her that he’s struggling to admit,” TJ says, and whoa.
Wait.
“Who said I have big feelings?” I counter.
TJ claps me on the back. “Like I said, you haven’t been this caught up in ages.”
Fine. Bellamy does occupy a lot of my thoughts. She intrigues the hell out of me. I salivate like Pavlov’s dog at the sight of her letters. I see another side of her when she writes to me, and I like that Bellamy.
But what about the fact that we don’t want the same things?
“You have big, fat feelings, E,” TJ says, then claps Nolan’s shoulder. “Just like this guy does for Emerson.”
Nolan sputters. “What?”
“You do, man,” TJ says decisively. “And for you, I’d write a story about a man and a woman who have been friends forever. They work on a food show together and have all of this unresolved sexual tension between them that one day, finally combusts.”
“We’re not even in the same city. I’m in the process of moving back to NY and Emerson still lives in San Francisco. Plus, we’re only friends,” Nolan insists. He points to me, diverting the convo. “Finish the scene for E. What happens next to our guy?”
TJ just shrugs. “Some scenes you just have to write out to know how to resolve them.”
And I suppose that’s true. Because as we run, I try to picture walking into the bakery and seeing Bellamy, and I have no idea what to expect.
25
Cake, Olive Branches, and Confessions
Before I leave my brownstone office for Piece of Cake, I check my email. A message from my social media manager tells me we’ve had some mentions.