All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

“I don’t want to!” I hear Gabby yell next door. I don’t know why she’s outside, but I remind myself that it’s none of my business and take a sip of my coffee.

I can barely make out the low murmur of Finn’s voice, and then Gabby yells back at him.

“I hate karate! It’s dumb! I don’t know why you’re making me do this. Why can’t I take jujitsu? It’s better than stupid karate!”

I can’t make out Finn’s words, but he replies calmly, and then Gabby continues her tirade.

“You’re so mean to me! I don’t know why you have to be like this. I hate you!”

I cringe. Oh man, stab to the heart.

“Gabby,” he says, loudly now, which surprises me. “I’m trying my best here!”

There’s no more yelling, and a few minutes later I hear his car start and pull away.

I can’t help but remember the brief moment of hurt that passed across Finn’s face yesterday afternoon. He loves Gabby very much, it’s painfully obvious. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s trying. I honestly feel badly for both of them.

I hope Gabby comes around sooner rather than later.

Suddenly my phone rings, making me forget all about Finn and Gabby.

“Hi there.”

“Hey stranger,” Sasha says, chewing something in my ear. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee,” I reply. “Would you like me to start keeping a journal of my comings and goings for you?”

“Yeah, that would be easier,” she says, not bothered by my bitchiness in the least. “Just e-mail it to me every evening.”

“Smartass.” She chews something else. “What are you eating?”

“Celery.” She swallows and goes quiet, I’m assuming because she’s drinking something. “Dinner of champions.”

“Yes, it is. I’m eating a cookie.” I take a bite.

“Bitch. I haven’t had a cookie in two years.”

I laugh, happy to hear from her. “Life’s too short to not eat cookies.”

“My ass gets too big,” she says. “And then my costumes don’t fit and the seamstress gets catty about it.”

“Easier to not eat the cookies, I guess.”

“Yeah, but I do miss them.”

“Come visit me and I’ll give you all the cookies you want. Also, now is a good time to mention that I can eat all the fucking cookies I want. I’m officially fired.”

“Oh, babe,” she says, and I can hear the sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it was bound to happen, right? I worked my ass off in therapy today, and I’ve decided that I’ll get back to work and prove everyone wrong.”

“That’s my girl.”

“You really should come out here for a few days. It’s awesome.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t get away for a while. Are you coming to opening night?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” I assure her. “How’s the weather there?”

“Shitty. It’s been raining like crazy.”

“Here too.” I sigh. “Have you checked on my apartment lately?”

“Yesterday. Everything was fine. I borrowed some shoes too.”

I laugh and take another bite of my cookie. “You best return them if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt them.” She speaks to someone and then returns to me. “I’m sorry, I have to go. We’re having an evening rehearsal. I love you, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.”

She hangs up, and I lean my head back, imagining what she’s doing now. Jogging off to her place on the stage, script in hand, ready to get back to work.

I miss it.

More than I thought I would, and that was a lot.

I just fucking miss it.

And I’ll be damned if I won’t do it again. I worked too hard to reach where I was in my career to let this destroy it.

I must have fallen asleep on the porch. It’s dark when I wake up to someone ringing the front doorbell.

I stumble through the house, my leg singing in pain, and open the door to find a drenched Finn on the other side.

“Is she here?” he asks right away.

“Gabby? No.” I step back and let him in out of the weather. “What’s going on?”

“She ran off. Again.” He runs his hand through his wet hair. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “She’s mad at me. Also again.”

“She can’t have gone far,” I reply, and open a closet to reach for a pair of shoes and a flashlight. “I’ll help you look.”

“I’ve already run up and down the beach and didn’t see her,” he says. “London, if she was on the beach in the dark—”

She could be killed.

“I know, but she’s not on the beach. She’s just hiding because she’s mad.” I rub his arm soothingly and check the flashlight for batteries, which thankfully seem to work. “Besides, I think I know where she is.”

“Lead the way.”

We walk through the house to the back door, and I lead him outside to the small replica of the house my father had made for me when I was about Gabby’s age.