Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I’d spent the last few months using every distraction technique in my well-stocked arsenal, trying to prove this suspicion wrong. I’d traveled for work. I’d traveled for pleasure. I’d thrown myself into sponsoring a new medical trial Wells’s company was developing for children with cancer, underwriting most of the expenses and sending out so many memos about the best practices for running the project that Wells had begged me to be a little less invested. I’d kept myself busy with a myriad of handsome men whose names I couldn’t recall. I’d reminded myself over and over that since the details of Wells and Conor’s sudden summer wedding had blurred into a pleasant haze, any blistering-hot memories I had of that night were probably a product of my own imagination. And every day, I’d assured myself I was forgetting all about Hugh Linzee with his soft curls and his kind eyes.
Every day, I’d been lying.
Now, it felt like the universe was giving me a golden ticket—a chance to be in Hugh’s orbit again for a moment while still maintaining my distance.
And still I hesitated, worried that by speaking his name out loud, I’d be setting something in motion, a kind of gravitational pull toward heartbreak that I couldn’t fight. If Hugh could safe-crack his way into my brain after only a few hours, imagine the devastation he’d wreak if I unlocked the door.
You didn’t get where you are by being this cautious, I chided myself. And after another glance at Lesya’s anxious face, I made my decision.
“I… might know someone,” I admitted. “His name’s Hugh Linzee, with two e’s. He’s very personable.” Understatement. “Professional. Can’t say what his rates are or how good his work is personally, but Conor and Wells seemed pleased.”
This was a blatant lie. I hadn’t talked to Conor or Wells about this at all. Instead, I’d looked up the wedding photos on Conor’s social media accounts two weeks after the wedding, and they’d been amazing. Perfect. As gorgeous as the man who’d taken them.
“I also have no idea how to contact him,” I continued blithely, “so don’t ask—”
“Got it. Found his website with all his contact info. And his TikTok. And… oh! Oh, god, and his other TikTok.” She hugged her phone to her chest with both hands and made a face like she’d seen something unbearably adorable. “Holy shit, how freaking cute is that?”
“His… what?” I demanded.
But Lesya didn’t seem to hear me. “You are the best, Oscar. Seriously. You’re so smart.” She beamed a smile. “As evidenced by your choice of personal assistant.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Of course. You’re… good now?”
“Absolutely. I’m going to call Hugh today and beg him if necessary. Wait till I tell Mila!”
She hurried out of my office, and I watched her go, feeling more jittery than I should have. All these weeks, I’d been congratulating myself for putting Hugh out of my reach, and his contact info had been right there on his website. I rolled my eyes at myself. And then, without making a conscious choice, I found myself opening a browser window on my laptop.
Hugh Linzee—Photographer came up immediately.
Hugh’s face was on the front page, watching me with those shining eyes and that amused tilt to his mouth that said the world was mostly delightful. I soaked it in like a thirsty man. I was suddenly aware of my heartbeat— loud, fast, insistent—for the first time in months.
Swallowing hard, I clicked the Portfolio tab, and a new window opened. Hugh’s photography TikTok. As I clicked through clip after clip of happy couples, I felt my shoulders sink away from my ears. His perspective on the world carried a special kind of magic. Maybe it was the editing technique or perhaps the composition of the images. Maybe it was my own damned emotional nonsense. In any case, it was incredibly soothing.
So soothing that, after spending at least a half hour absorbed by mindless, happy scrolling and semi-indecent memories, it seemed like the most logical thing in the world that I should contact Hugh—just a casual text, no big deal, right?—to let him know that I’d recommended him to a friend.
Oscar
This is Oscar Overton. Hope you’re doing well. I wanted to give you a heads-up that I recommended you to Mila Velky who’s planning a wedding early next year.
After hitting Send, I stared at the stupid, borderline arrogant message in horror.
Why had I done that? What purpose did it serve?
I clicked off my phone, tossed it on the desk, and went to close the TikTok tab on my browser when I belatedly read the caption on Hugh’s profile. Founder, Real Life HEAs.
Helplessly, I clicked through to his second profile, and I immediately understood the face Lesya had made earlier because the Real Life HEAs TikTok account was saccharine-sweet romance heaven.
Reel after reel, post after post, Hugh celebrated true love in all its many forms by asking random people on the street how they’d found their happily ever afters. The answers were as diverse as the men, women, and nonbinary folx Hugh interviewed. I clicked one at random and watched two women and a man explain how their polycule had fallen in love back in college and taken their first tentative steps into building a relationship. In the next, a pair of women explained how they’d met decades before they’d believed gay marriage would ever be legal and spent forty years making a family before one had finally “made an honest woman” of the other. In another, two men explained meeting on a dance floor a few months before and how one “wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Kyle was just so…” He’d broken off with a helpless gesture that had made his partner grin.