Operation Meet Cute by K.M. Neuhold
Chapter 20
TEDDY
I go through the motions of packing my suitcase for my early flight to New York tomorrow, my heart just as heavy as it’s been since I walked out of that motel room in Georgia and hopped an early flight home.
I heard Harlow get in late last night. I even thought I heard him in the hallway outside of my apartment. How I knew the shuffling footsteps were his, pacing back and forth in front of my door, I have no idea. Or maybe it was nothing more than wishful thinking.
I’ve waffled back and forth on whether it was fair of me to spring the news on him like that and expect a response, any response. But fuck, it’s not like I need him to tell me he’s in love with me or that he wants to get married or anything. I just need to know there’s a possibility for something. I just need to know that he doesn’t want me to go, and he can’t give me that.
I look over my favorite suit to make sure it’s fully presentable for my meeting, and then I zip it into the bag and hang it on my bedroom door. My suitcase is laughably empty, but I’m at a loss. Either I won’t get the job and I’ll only be in New York for twenty-four hours or so, or I will get the job and then…honestly, I can’t even think about that outcome. I’ll need to make plans for my things to be shipped, find an apartment, hurry to move my entire life three-thousand miles away.
My stomach roils at the thought. I should be happy. This is a huge promotion. It’s what I’ve been working toward for years. So why does it feel like a death sentence?
Stupid question. I know exactly why my stomach knots and my heart sinks every time I think about actually getting the job. I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that’s going to close the door on all the possibilities with Harlow. Except…maybe he’s the one closing the door? Fuck, I don’t know anymore.
There’s a knock on my front door, sending my heart jolting into my throat. Maybe it’s Harlow. Maybe he’s ready to talk about this, about us. Even as I stride quickly through my living room to the front door, I already know it won’t be Low. No matter how we left things the other night, he’s never knocked once in five years. He walks right in like my place is his, the same way he claimed my heart as his without ever asking permission. I feel like I should be annoyed about all of it, but I can’t manage it.
I pull open the door and try my best not to look disappointed when I find Ezra on the other side.
“Jesus, you’d think I was here to kick your puppy or something,” he says with a chuckle, breezing past me into the apartment.
Eileen greets him with a little meow. He was here feeding her all last week, so they’ve become fast friends. Unlike Harlow, Ezra doesn’t sweep her up and baby talk to her or kiss her on the head, he just gives her a quick, awkward pat and then continues on toward my bedroom. I follow him in confusion.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask as he opens my top dresser drawer and starts filling my suitcase with enough clothing to last me at least a week.
“I’m here to help you, boss. I figured you might need a hand packing.”
“I don’t.” I stride over and obstinately remove the things he just added, tossing them onto the bed in a messy heap.
Ezra sighs and sits down on the end of my bed. “Okay, do you want warm, fuzzy comfort or a kick in the ass?”
I snort derisively. He’s a great assistant and a wonderful friend, but Ezra and warm, fuzzy comfort do not go together. I almost want to pick that option just to see what his version of comfort even is, but frankly, I don’t have the energy.
“Can I choose neither?” I ask gruffly, giving in and re-packing a few of the things he had added.
“No.”
“Fine, kick in the pants it is.” I finish and zip my suitcase before he can try to pack anything else.
“This job is the opportunity of a lifetime. There are going to be a million eligible bachelors in New York all dying for a date with you.”
I scowl. “I don’t want a date with any of them.”
“You don’t even know them,” he points out, but I can see sympathy leaching into his expression.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re not Low.”
“You really are in love with him, aren’t you?”
“I really fucking am.” My chest aches just saying it. Maybe that’s what was missing the other night. If I tell Harlow I’m in love with him, will it change his mind or just terrify him more?
“So go downstairs and tell him,” Ezra encourages.
“Since when are you Team Harlow?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Definitely fucking not Team Harlow. But I am Team Teddy, and if he’s really going to make you happy, then give it all you have.”
I consider his advice while tugging my suitcase off the bed and placing it near my bedroom door so it’s ready for the morning.
“I think I did,” I say. “Or, at least, I gave him everything he could handle. If I tell him I’m in love with him, it’s only going to freak him out. He has a few more hours to come around on his own before it’s too late.”
“Why would he be freaked out? The man is obsessed with love. He’ll probably turn into a puddle of swoon if you confess your undying devotion to him.”
I chuckle. It’s easy to see why he would think that, but he doesn’t know Harlow like I do. “It’s all an act, or, I don’t know, overcompensation. He loves the idea of love, but he’s afraid.”
I’ve always known that about him. It’s why I’ve taken things so slow and let him set the pace. For the millionth time in the past few days, I consider backing out of this interview. If I stay here, there won’t be any ticking clock over our heads, and I can show him that he has all the time he needs to trust whatever’s between us.
“Don’t back out of the interview,” Ezra says as if he’s reading my mind.
“I know, you want to move to New York, and you want me far, far away from Harlow.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I mean, yes, but no. I think this is important for you. You’re such a good guy, Teddy, and you deserve someone who’s willing to fight for you. If Harlow is really the one, then let him put in the work too.”
I want to argue, but he’s making a good point. I can’t stay here and give Harlow everything I have if he doesn’t want it.
“Hey, why don’t we go out and grab some dinner?” Ezra suggests, standing up and putting a hand on my arm. “We can celebrate your promotion.”
“I haven’t gotten it yet,” I remind him. “You’re going to jinx me.”
He smiles. “Fine, let’s just celebrate good food and drinks then.”
“Okay, I can live with that.”
I grab my keys and follow him out of my apartment while he calls his husband to join us. At least I won’t have to spend the rest of the night brooding all alone.
HARLOW
I’ve been up and down the stairs, pacing in front of Teddy’s door, pathetically listening to every footstep and sound he makes in the apartment above me when I’m not stalking his hallway, and I feel like a complete and utter idiot.
All I need to do is knock on his door and tell him to stay. One word, and he’ll forget all about New York and his big, fancy promotion. But then what? Will we be in a relationship? How long until he resents me for making him give up such a huge job opportunity, or he gets tired of me? Sure, my inability to cook and general shallowness are charming and adorable right now, but they won’t be forever.
I don’t know what to do, and when I don’t know what to do, there’s usually only one solution: binge rom coms. Except, this problem was kind of caused by my rom com obsession. Well, that and my shitbag dad, but that’s a whole other can of worms I don’t need to deal with right now.
If Julia Roberts can’t solve this problem for me, it is entirely possible that all hope is lost.
I wander over to my computer and sit down. A blank document fills the screen, the script-writing program still open from my most recent attempt at writing something new, just before we left for Georgia. As if I need to be reminded of my mental block. I close it out, clicking the mouse much harder than necessary to clear the screen.
In truth, the solution to both my problems is the same. I can’t write a half-decent script, and I can’t get over my fears about a possible future with Teddy because the only love I’ve ever trusted is fictional love.
I pull up a fresh blank Word doc, not giving myself time to think and instead just letting my fingers move mindlessly while my brain starts to work out the all-important question that I need to answer.
What even is love?
Love is that first perfect moment when your eyes meet and your heart speeds up.
I shake my head and tab to a new line. That isn’t love. That’s a meet-cute. That’s a single moment, a fantasy.
I try again.
Love is knowing and never doubting that the person by your side is the right one for you.
I pause at this one. It seems right, but is it? Clearly, I know fuck all about romantic love, but I do love Marnie, and I know that there are times when I want to push that girl down a tall flight of stairs. With cushioning at the bottom, of course. I don’t think that’s quite it either.
I close my eyes, digging deep. I should know what love is. Shouldn’t it be instinctual? I swivel my head slowly from side to side as if that will magically shake something loose. With my eyes still closed, images of Teddy fill my mind. Teddy’s sweet smile, the exasperated sounds he makes when I try to cook, the ridiculously sexy irritated growl that only I ever seem to draw out of him. A million memories flip past the inside of my eyelids like a movie of the last five years. At least a thousand minutes of laughter, dozens of fights, a hundred or more movie nights, sharing takeout, falling asleep on the couch, crying on each other’s shoulders…all of it, every second, fills me up and feels like an epiphany.
My fingers start moving again across the keyboard, my eyes still closed as my heart pounds a harsh beat against my ribcage. The movie in my mind speeds up, a blur of images flickering past: angry Teddy, sleepy Teddy, happy Teddy, irritated Teddy…Teddy with that look in his eyes that terrified and excited me the other night. Teddy. Teddy. Teddy.
A sound bubbles up in my throat and forces its way past my lips. I’m not sure if it’s relief or regret or some combination of the tornado of emotions inside me.
When I open my eyes, the screen is filled with words, but I zero in on the last sentence.
Love is taking the leap and trusting him to catch you.
I push my chair away from my desk, toppling it in my haste to stand up. I don’t bother to right it, nor do I stop to put on my shoes. I barely even close my apartment door behind me before sprinting up the stairs and skidding to a halt in front of Teddy’s apartment.
My heart forces its way into my throat while I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and then reach for the doorknob. It doesn’t budge. I did hear multiple footsteps earlier, maybe Teddy went out with someone. Ezra, if I had to guess. I frown at that thought. I have no doubt he’s trying to convince Teddy to hate me. Not that I’m worried about it. I know Teddy’s feelings for me are too solid to be swayed by that pretentious asshat’s shit-talking. But fuck, now what?
I consider sitting down in front of his door and waiting for him to get home. Or even going back down to grab my key so I can let myself in and wait there for him to get home. It wouldn’t be the first time. But for some reason, it feels wrong. Maybe because of how we left things, I don’t want to spring myself on him.
I lean against his door for a minute, breathing in all the certainty that’s now filling me that this is the right thing to do. I’ll go back downstairs and when I hear him come home, I’ll come up and talk to him. He said all I had to do was tell him to stay. I can do that. I can tell him more than that.
I’m ready.
I reluctantly push away from the door and clomp back down the steps to my floor. While I wait for Teddy to return home, I decide to put on a movie.
I’ve spent the last five nights tossing and turning, fighting horrible dreams of losing Teddy. A sense of peace fills me now. He won’t go, not once I say everything I want to tell him. I curl up on the couch and let my eyelids drift closed, the sound of Hugh Grant’s voice lulling me to sleep.
