Chloe lay sprawled on the couch with her laptop balanced against her knees, half-watching emails and half-scrolling a website for shoes she'd never buy.
"Okay, I've decided," Chloe announced from the couch, her laptop propped against her knees. "Next life, I'm coming back as a plant. Preferably one that doesn't get emails."
Sarah glanced up from her sketchbook. "You'd be dead in a week. You'd scream every time someone opened the curtains too wide."
"Not if I'm adopted by someone like you," Chloe replied sweetly. "Loving. Nurturing. Makes dinner and hot chocolate."
Sarah smirked, adding a sleeve detail to her sketch. "You're only saying that because you're full."
"Yes, full and emotionally dependent."
Sarah chuckled, setting her pencil down for a moment. "How was work?"
"A blur," Chloe groaned. "I sat in meetings about meetings. Then one of the assistants tried to convince me chartreuse is a neutral."
Sarah feigned horror. "Did you fire them on the spot?"
"I considered exile. But HR said no."
Sarah laughed again, and the sound softened the room like a blanket.
"And you?" Chloe asked. "You've been glued to that sketchbook all day."
"New client," Sarah replied. "Wants drama. Something bold. 'Memorable but effortless.' Their words, not mine."
After a pause.
"So…" Sarah said slowly, eyes still on her sketch. "Did the mystery man ever call?"
Chloe's head popped up. "Mystery man?"
Sarah glanced at her with a knowing look. "Tall. Navy blazer. Party. You vanished in exactly fifteen minutes."
"Oh," Chloe grinned. "That mystery man."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "There was more than one?"
"Well, technically yes. But you're talking about Liam."
"Liam?" Sarah repeated, amused. "You got his name?"
Chloe gave a mock gasp. "Excuse you. I get names, not just drinks."
Sarah chuckled. "So…?"
Chloe flopped dramatically onto her back. "We texted. Twice. Then he sent me a shirtless mirror selfie. With a quote."
Sarah grimaced. "Oh no."
Chloe groaned. "A Nietzsche quote."
Sarah burst out laughing. "That's worse than I imagined."
"I told him the only abyss I was staring into was his ego. Then I blocked him."
Sarah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're a public service."
"I try."
A quiet beat passed before Chloe nudged Sarah's leg with her foot. "You're one to talk. You ghosted half the room that night."
"I was looking for Zoe."
"You were hiding behind a palm plant."
Sarah tilted her head. "It was decorative."
"It was tragic," Chloe said with a grin. "You wore that stunning black dress and then spent half the evening with basil leaves in your hair."
"They were fern leaves."
"Still tragic."
They laughed — loudly and freely.
Just as Sarah was brushing a shadow line across her sketch, Chloe's phone buzzed.
She glanced at it casually, then frowned. Her fingers paused mid-typing.
Sarah looked up. "Problem?"
She sighed, not looking away from the screen. "He wants to meet. In person."
Sarah blinked. "Who wants to meet?"
A little hesitation, then muttered, "Just a guy I've been talking to."
Sarah straightened. "What guy?"
"The one I've been chatting with online," Chloe said, as if that explained everything.
"Since when are you chatting with someone online?"
Chloe gave a sheepish shrug. "A couple of months."
Her eyes narrowed. "Hold on — isthis the same guy from last weekend?"
Chloe scoffed. "No! That was Liam. This is someone else. I told you about him… didn't I?"
"You did not!" Sarah's jaw dropped. "Chloe! How many men are you talking to?"
Chloe grinned mischievously. "Talking? Texting. And it's networking, technically."
Sarah gaped. "What kind of network is this?"
Chloe held up her hands. "Listen, the online one is sweet. But I never sent a photo. Now he wants to meet and I'm just—" she pointed at her screen in mild panic, "—not ready to shatter the illusion."
Sarah folded her arms. "What illusion?"
"That I'm mysterious, poetic, and maybe French."
Sarah snorted. "You once burned toast and cried over a puppy commercial. You are not French."
Another buzz.
Chloe glanced at her screen again — then immediately sat up.
"Oh no," she whispered.
"What now?"
"He said if meeting somewhere feels unsafe or awkward, he's happy to just swing by here." She looked up, horrified. "Here. As in, this apartment. Tomorrow."
"What?" She nearly dropped her pencil. "Is he insane?"
"No, he's considerate," Chloe corrected, still panicking. "And unfortunately, also persistent. Plus tomorrow is my date. I can't cancel it. That took a week of subtle texting and strategic Instagram likes to land."
"So tell poetry-boy you're not available!"
"I can't." She pulled a cushion into her lap. "We've been building this mysterious connection for months. I made myself sound like a walking sigh in a Parisian bookstore. You, on the other hand," she pointed, "look exactly like the mental image I gave him."
Her stomach sank. "Wait. No. Absolutely not."
"Please."
"No."
"You've got that classic face — the kind people paint or write romantic poems about. He'll love it."
"I don't even go on dates. Let alone pretend to be someone else on one."
"It's not a real date. It's just a meet-up. A handoff. You'll sit, nod, look mysterious, sip something. Maybe talk about Neruda."
"I barely talk to strangers in elevators."
"Exactly! You'll be perfect. Reserved, poetic, unknowable. It's your brand."
"I don't have a brand."
"Well, you do now," Chloe said, already pulling a grey cardigan from the back of a chair. "And it's minimalist heartbreak."
Sarah stared at her. "You've lost your mind."
Chloe pressed her palms together in prayer. "Please. Just twenty minutes. I'll owe you forever."
"You already owe me forever."
"I'll do your laundry. I'll organize your sketchbooks. I'll even sit through that three-hour fashion documentary you keep pausing for commentary."
"You think I'd risk my social safety for laundry?"
"I'll stop using your shampoo."
There was a beat.
Sarah blinked. "You've been using my shampoo?"
"That's not the point right now," Chloe said quickly. "Come on, you're always saying I should stop dating every man with a jawline. This is the opposite. This one thinks I'm refined."
"But I'm the one who has to go prove it!"
"Exactly. You'll just be me. But better."
Sarah opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then groaned. "This is so stupid. What if he figures it out?"
Chloe waved it off. "He won't. I've told him almost nothing real about me. Which, again, is where you come in."
"I'm not a mirage, Chloe."
"No," she said, beaming, "you're a masterpiece."
A long silence.
Then finally—softly, defeated—"Fine."
Chloe gasped. "Yes?"
"I said fine, not happybirthday."
She squealed, tossing the cushion in victory. "You're the best."
"No, I'm the stupidest."
Chloe perked up suddenly. "Wait! I'll text you all his details tomorrow morning—name, photo, likes, what kind of coffee he orders, everything. Fresh in your memory before the meetup."
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "You're treating this like I'm interviewing a wedding candidate."
"Well," Chloe said with a sly grin, "you never know when the tragic bookstore heroine might finally meet her plot twist."
Sarah rolled her eyes, pushing up from the chair with a sigh. "One coffee. One hour. After that, I'm out."
Chloe beamed. "That's all I ask, my mysterious Neruda muse."
Sarah paused by her bedroom door. "And no more Neruda tonight."
"No promises," Chloe called after her, already humming with the smug satisfaction of someone who just dodged a double-date disaster.
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Hey you! Yes, you scrolling there. If my story's got you hooked (or just curious what happens next), don't be shy—drop a like, a comment, or send me a virtual high-five 🖐️. Writing this novel is like juggling flaming swords—exciting but also terrifying—and your support is the fire extinguisher I desperately need. So stick around, and let's make some literary magic happen!
~Vivian Halstead