It's a week later, July swamping the city like only July in New York can. Sometimes it feels like there's no air. Other times, like the sun is licking my skin. I've taken to spending as long as I can at the office because of the air conditioning, waiting until it's almost dark to go home so I don't have to get on the sweaty subway. Instead, I take a city bike, enjoying the feel of the wind on my face, and the odd thrill I get almost dying every day as a car swerves unexpectedly.
My new, longer hours, come with benefits. Tabitha is happy with me, pushing me to come up with stunts for other months, watching our subscriber numbers climb as the Find Ben promo seems to have taken on a life of its own on TikTok, even though we've moved onto to other titles. I got a large bouquet of flowers from the author of Most Wanted after her book landed on the bestseller list.
But there are downsides, too. I'm still getting tonnes of mail, clues, questions, and stories about Ben—their version, anyway. And even though I posted that I found him, I've been barraged with questions about who he is.
I've kept his identity secret for several reasons. Mostly because I still don't have a real way to contact him to ask permission. But also because I don't want us like that in public. There's nothing in that for me but heartbreak.
My new office hours have also meant that I haven't had much time for Jack. Despite the rocky start, we had a nice time at the park after the run-in with Ben and Rachel. I did my best to be present, to focus on Jack, not to parse every word and look that had passed between me and Ben.
I forced myself to stay off Facebook in case there were new photos, ones that could pierce my heart and send me careening off somewhere that wasn't good for me. At the end of the afternoon, Jack tried to kiss me and I let him. It was a chaste peck, and all it did was remind me of what had happened with Ben on our date in the park. But that wasn't Jack's fault. I'm not in the business of taking advice from my absent mother, but I do feel like I need to give Jack a real chance. One untainted by Ben. So I make a plan to see him on Saturday night.
"Working late again?" Jameela asks. Addison left a while ago, and despite my attempts to apologize, Jameela and I haven't really been speaking since Bridgerton-gate.
"Can I tell you a secret?" I say.
"Sure."
"It's for the air conditioning. Mostly I find this place dreadfully boring."
She laughs. "You said it like Anthony."
"I know."
"Thank you."
"I really am sorry, Jameela. I shouldn't have taken my shit out on you."
"It's okay."
"It's not, though. Everything okay in the ton?"
"You really want to know?"
"Of course."
"It's been super quiet. It's depressing."
"They're filming, right? Season four?"
"Yeah, I think so. But there hasn't been any promo or anything. Why does the show hate them so much?"
I stifle my internal sigh. "Who knows. But maybe, in the meantime, we can find another 'ship?" I point to the stack of books on my desk. "I could use some help. I've got four books with the same plot again and I can't decide which one to pick. Would you mind reading them and telling me which couple gives you all the feels?"
"For real?"
"Totally."
I hand her the novels. They're all set at Thanksgiving and will be our October selections. A girl with a broken heart returns home for Thanksgiving to re-discover her first love. The girl always lives in New York, but is from a small town in the Midwest where, miraculously, no one ever talks politics. Two of those towns are named Madison, without saying which state. Two of them even have characters with the same name—both the woman and the guy are named Cassidy and Carter. "You'd be doing me a massive favor."
She takes them and hugs them to her chest. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
"I applied for your job, you know."
"You did?"
"Yeah, before you got it. I want to move into editorial."
"That's cool. Why don't you write up a paragraph about what you like about each book and if there's anything problematic in it? I can share it with Tabitha. Maybe this can be a regular thing."
"That'd be awesome."
I close down my computer and stand up. I love the air-conditioning but it leaves me feeling cold all the time, like the chill gets into my bones and won't leave. It usually takes my whole bike ride home for it to seep out. "What are you up to tonight?"
"Reading these."
"Cool."
"Oh! I keep forgetting to tell you. I might have a lead on Addison's Wattpad handle.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I think so. I'm not totally sure."
"What makes you think it's her?"
"Just some of her turns of phrase. I've been reading some fan fiction on there and then I came across this romance novel and—"
"Wait, wait, wait. You think she's writing romance?"
"Pretty sure."
"Wow. I was sure it was horror."
"Yeah, I was a bit surprised. And I might be wrong. I'm doing some more investigating."
"Well, you're the one who figured out who the new cast members were in season three before they were announced by tracking down Insta follows, so I have confidence in you."
She grins. "My proudest moment."
"I'm sure."
We walk together toward the exit. I put on the alarm and turn off the lights. We wait for the elevator.
"What about you?" Jameela asks. "You have plans with Jack?"
"On the weekend."
"And Ben?"
"That's over. It was a fantasy like you said."
"His loss."
"Thanks."
"Maybe it will work out with Jack?"
"Maybe." She surprises me by pulling me into a hug. I hug her back, feeling emotional. "Thanks, Jameela."
The elevator dings. "No problem. It infects us, you know, I think."
"What?"
We step into the elevator.
"What we do. Reading all this romance all the time, being surrounded by it. We expect grand gestures and problems and like, love shouldn't be so complicated, you know? It should be easy."
"So no enemies-to-lovers?"
"I mean, yeah, in a book or TV show, it's hot. Not gonna lie. But in real life, I'd rather leave the drama on the screen, you know?"
"I do. Good advice."
The doors open and we walk through the lobby, waving goodnight to the security guard.
"Thanks, Jameela, I needed that."
"Welcome. See you tomorrow."
"Yep."
We part outside and I watch her walk for a minute before I go and find my city bike. Behind all the fan worship and shipping, Jameela is wise beyond her years. I laugh at myself—I sound like I'm forty, not twenty-seven, surprised at the wisdom of a twenty-two-year-old. Gah.
Begone, Ben. I don't need a romantic hero. I need a real man who wants to be with me.
And even though I've said this to myself before, I mean this time.
I swear.
###
"Ugh, why are we doing this?" I ask Kit Friday morning, way too early, as she drags me into a spin studio a couple of miles from my apartment. "Didn't we swear we were never going back to spin?"
Kit tosses her head the way she always does when she's lying. "Did we?"
"We definitely did."
"That was before I got engaged." She wiggles her finger at me.
She loved the ring, just like I knew she would. And she said yes, of course, silly John. He surprised her by proposing with breakfast in bed on a morning when he'd cleared her schedule for her at work by pretending to be a new client who needed a consult out of the office. They'd also had a long talk about what was going on at work. John was fine with her resigning if she needed to. His practice was going well and he could handle the finances for a while until she got her footing back.
It wasn't lost on me that Kit had her romantic hero with her all along. Low on drama, big on support. A nice guy who wanted to be with her. Just like I needed.
"What does that have to do with it?" I ask.
She adjusts the sweatband she insists on wearing at spin class, one of the many reasons why I swore I'd never take spin with her again. "I need to be wedding dress ready."
"Kit, you weigh like ninety pounds."
"Excuse me, no, I do not."
"You know what I mean." Kit's always been birdlike even though she eats like a regular person.
"I want to look good in my dress."
"You will."
"And this is the way I'm doing that."
"Okay."
"And you're my bridesmaid, so you have to do it, too."
"See, that's where I disagree. No one's going to be paying attention to what I look like on your wedding day."
We'd agreed that I'd get to pick my dress, something understated that wouldn't show her up, as if I'd ever do that or could.
We pay at the front desk and go to the lockers, which are, thankfully, not unisex like the last spin studio we went to. I strip off the top layer I wore here, knowing I need to be in the least amount of clothing possible in the class. Which means I'm wearing a sports bra and short bike shorts and not much else. Around me are women with the kind of body Kit's hoping to achieve.
Will there ever be a time when I'm not comparing myself to other women? God I hope so.
"You'll love it, you'll see."
"I've been before. And I highly doubt that."
We put on our bike shoes and walk to the classroom, the clips clacking against the floor. We find two bikes in the back row and adjust them. I sit on the uncomfortable seat, clip in, and start to move my legs slowly. The spin room is dark and it's one of those places that will start playing disco music and lights once the instructor gets going. There are two large TV screens at the front and there my name is—ChloeSpinsIGuess—at the bottom of the leaderboard.
"I'm already last," I say to Kit.
"It's random. Stop stressing."
I start to move my legs a bit faster, hoping to move up the board and it works. I jump over a few names, including IamKit, and land steady under RachelSpinsforWine. I appreciate the sentiment and look around for someone who clearly has the same approach as I do to this kind of thing. There's a woman ahead of me with a blonde ponytail and strong shoulders that looks vaguely familiar, and ...
Oh, shit. What the hell is it with this town?
"Kit!"
"What?"
I point to Rachel's back. That's Rachel, I mouth.
"I can't hear you."
I give her a dagger look and try to spell out Rachel's name with sign language like we used to do in school when we didn't want the teacher to know what we were saying. Kit watches my fingers move over and over again, R-A-C-H-E-L and then B-E-N and finally she gets it.
Her eyes widen. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"What do you want to do?"
"Oh, hi! It's Chloe, right?" Rachel's looking at me over her tanned and perfect shoulder.
"Hi, Rachel. This is my friend, Kit."
Kit waves at her and Rachel gives her a smile. I can't decide whether it's friendly or fake. Genuine or real. Maybe a bit of both.
"Okay, people! Let's get this show on the road." A buff-looking woman in her thirties is now on the instructor's cycle at the front of the class with a microphone leading to her mouth. "This is our forty-five-minute hill climb. That's right my friends, we're going up, up, up. Since it's the Tour de France right now, I take my inspiration from that. Today we're climbing Mont Ventoux. Fifteen kilometers, 8.5% of gradient. Are you ready?"
"Ready!" the class roars. Rachel gives me a shrug of her shoulders and turns to her bike.
I glare at Kit. "You didn't tell me it was hills."
"Too late now!"
"Let's get our bikes to a resistance of 15 and hit that 85 rotation, shall we?"
Everyone reaches down and adjusts the tension on their bikes. I set mine at 10 and move my feet as fast as I can. I quickly fall down the rankings as my watts are the worst in the class. Damn it. I turn the dial up to fifteen, which is supposed to be a "flat hill" according to the instructor, whatever that means, but feels to me like I'm going straight up. I do start inching up the standings though, so it's almost worth it.
Rachel, of course, is near the top, a single bead of sweat rolling down between her perfect shoulder blades. I have a terrifying image of Ben running his finger down that trail, then push it away.
The music transitions in Glass Animals' "Heat Wave" and I push myself further at the instructors urging. I have forty minutes left to get to Rachel on this leaderboard and I'm going to do it if it kills me.
"Your face is very red!" Kit pants next to me.
"I'll be okay!"
Rachel looks back at me and starts to laugh. I glare at her and she turns away. She might have Ben, but I don't need her judgment. I turn up the dial another notch and raise up and out of the saddle, even though the instructor hasn't told us to do that yet. But my calves are killing and so it my butt, and I need a bit of relief.
"Let's follow Chloe's lead, shall we class?" The instructor says, rising up in her own saddle. "You can take this hill, team! You got this! Hear the crowd cheering you on! Lean into it!"
Everyone follows her instructions, and I fall into a sort of haze for the rest of the class. Each song is a mix of more hill and short flat sections. We rise, we sit, we lean forward, we dig in, we ease off, we go to the hydration station, and all the time my eyes are fixated on Rachel's name on the leaderboard. I inch closer to her with each song. Now there are ten people between us, now nine. One more song and it's eight. I'm running out of time so I take a bit off the resistance and ramp up my speed and now I'm five behind her. Kit tries to talk to me but I wave her off, leaning low over my handlebars, my eyes fixed on the space between her shoulders. Four, three, two. Only two dudes are between us, the only two guys in the class.
"Last song, kids! Let's keep up the intensity, you can do it!"
I'm not sure I can, but then Rachel makes a mistake. She sits back in her seat to take some water and wipe her face with a towel. I see my chance and I peddle with all my might, faster than I ever have before even though I'm having trouble breathing.
"Thirty seconds!"
I pump my legs, eyes fixed on the board as I reach level with Rachel.
"And time!"
I sit back, gasping for air. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to walk out of here. But at least I did it. My name is level with Rachel's but because the board is alphabetical, I'm ahead of her.
"You don't look too good," Kit says.
"I'll be fine." I reach for my water bottle and suck as much of it as I can down. Then I wipe my face with my towel while Rachel dismounts gracefully from her bike. She walks toward me. She barely looks like she's been exercising, just two bright spots of color on her cheeks.
"That was fun!"
"Yeah."
"You hear about this place from Ben?" she says, resting her arms on my handlebars.
"What?"
"We come here a lot."
"Oh, um, no I didn't know that."
Kit hobbles over. "I got a coupon."
"Ah."
"It's a bit out of our way, really," Kit says. "How about you?"
"It's near his studio."
I bite my tongue, not wanting to ask if she means his music studio or his apartment. At least she didn't say "our studio". But then I remember that his recording studio is in the village, not Brooklyn.
"So, you going to join here?" Rachel asks, trying to be casual but not quite making it.
"I'm not sure I can ever walk again, but if I can, maybe."
Kit bites her tongue, for which I'm grateful.
"Ok-ay. I wouldn't want things to be, you know, awk-ward."
"Thanks." I unclip my shoes finally and pull myself off the bike. I try not to think about her looking at my ass in these shorts.
"Well, anyway. Nice to see you," I say.
"Sure, see you around."
Maybe it's a question, but I don't answer it. Instead, I loop my arm through Kit's and let her help me out of the studio.
I do not look back.
"I might need to move," I say when we're far enough away from her. "New York is way too small a town."