“Wow,” I repeat, sitting up straighter. My heart skips a beat, and I don’t know what to think. It’s a good deal. A great opportunity. Anyone would be thrilled to death to get this kind of offer…but the details didn’t work out, and now that I’m hearing Vanessa got things ironed out, I’m feeling almost disappointed. “That pretty much takes care of everything I had an issue with.”

Well, except for the whole I have to stay in LA thing. Sam and I can make it work, I’m sure of that. The flight between Chicago is at the most five hours. It’s manageable. I love him and he loves me…and if he really is going to ask me to marry him, then this is just a small blip on our radar for being together forever.

“And there’s one more thing,” Vanessa says, trying hard not to let her excitement be known. “They want you to direct an episode or two.”

“What?” I heard her but—what? “I don’t know anything about directing.”

“I know, and you will be guided through it. It’s a PR move more than anything, but you will be listed as the director and will get an impressive amount of say in how the episode goes. This could be next level for you, Chloe. Nightfall has done amazing and you have a good reputation in the world of publishing. Get in good with the producers and directors and you are golden.”

I lean back against the couch, mind racing. My last “in” to the elite circle of producers was going on a date that ended horribly and being slung through the mud on Twitter—all because I refused to let said asshole grope me in public.

“Wow,” I say for the third time, at a total loss for any other words. “That sounds amazing.”

“Yes! I was hoping you’d want to move forward and discuss details. The first few episodes are going to be shot overseas, so how do you feel about living abroad for half a year?”

23

Chloe

“Chloe,” Sam breathes as soon as he walks through the door. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I smile, debating holding up the pretense that I put minimal effort into my appearance, but that’s not true. Sam saw me at my very worst this weekend and is smart enough to know I curled my hair and put on makeup. “How was the rest of your day at work?”

“All right.” He takes his shoes off and pushes them into the foyer closet. “Did you cook?”

“I did.” The smile is back on my face. “It’s nothing fancy, just parmesan chicken with spaghetti. I kind of forgot about ordering breadstick to go along with this.”

“It smells wonderful.” Sam takes me in his arms, pulling me in for a passionate kiss. I melt against him, running my hands down to his chest, stopping when my fingers hover over his belt buckle. It’s half-past seven, and Sam still wants to walk along the lake after dinner.

Excitement passes through me and I do my best to quell that feeling. It’s too soon to think about it. We’ve only been dating for a short while, but we have known—and loved—each other for years. I know without a doubt Sam is the one for me. I’ll marry him in a heartbeat and have no fears that the rest of our lives will be filled with nothing but joy and happiness.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Starving.”

“Good. I’ll put dinner on the table.”

He kisses me again. “I’ll change and be out.”

Sam comes back, dressed in black athletic pants and a Chicago Bears sweatshirt, just as I’m putting his plate on the table.

“This looks and smells really good,” he tells me, picking up his fork and knife.

“Hopefully it tastes good.”

“You really didn’t have to cook. I would have ordered something if you wanted.”

“I know,” I tell him. “I really do enjoy cooking when someone other than me enjoys the food. And I had to eat tonight anyway, so making something fresh is a win-win for us both.”

He takes a bite of his chicken and I wait, watching his face. I followed a recipe but have yet to try it myself.

“This is good. Thanks, babe.”

“You are more than welcome.” I cut into my own food and am pleasantly surprised myself at how much I like this too. “There’s enough left over for you to take to lunch tomorrow, if you want.”

“I’d love that.” He twirls spaghetti noodles around his fork. “What’d you do all day?”

“I went back and forth between sleeping on the couch and trying to work. I didn’t get anything new written, though. Oh, I heard from my agent about that TV show deal.”

“You sound much more excited about it now.”

“What she presented was good and made me excited, but that’s really what it is: a presentation. We have to look over the contract in detail, but this network really wants me and is pretty much going to bend to my will,” I laugh. “There is one big bad thing, though.”

“What is it?”

“They want me to direct a few episodes.”

“That’s bad?” Sam questions.

“No, not really, and I won’t be alone in directing. It’s just a marketing tactic, really. But…the show will be filmed mostly in Europe. There’s a good chance I’ll have to spend several weeks in a row on set, which…”

“Which makes this all hard.” Sam’s fork goes slack in his hand, resting against his plate.

“It’s not forever, and think of how much fun it would be for you to come visit me on a set somewhere in the French countryside.” I flash a smile. “Which is a guess and probably not a location the show will film at since it’s supposed to be way back in the knights and dragons phase. You’ll be busy with work, but even seeing each other once or twice a month will help immensely.”

“When do you think the show will start filming?” Sam pokes at his food, making it look like he’s eating when really, he’s not.

“Probably not until next summer. These things take an annoying amount of time.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He goes back to his food, and a few minutes pass between us. “Do you still want to walk along the shore with me?”

My heart flutters in my chest, and my eyes go to my nails. I didn’t have any nail polish, so instead I made sure to dig out any dirt and file them as smooth as possible. “Yeah, I’d love to. I missed out on Silver Lake, might as well enjoy what I can of Lake Michigan, right?”

“Right.”

We go back to making small talk while eating, and I go into the bedroom to change out of this black dress and into leggings and an oversized gray sweater. It hangs off my shoulder and is considered by many of my friends back home as something “real winter people” would wear. I laugh and tell them that it gets so freaking cold up here, having one shoulder showing is enough to freeze you to the bone, yet here I am, being one of those people who underestimated the random low temps the Midwest likes to throw at you. I brought a jacket, at least, and pull it on over my sweater.

“I should have brought gloves,” I grumble as soon as we get onto the sidewalk in front of Sam’s apartment.

“It’s not that cold out,” he replies. “I think your dad was right to say California has made you soft.”