All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

“It’s off Massachusetts, not Australia,” I remind her, and brush a tear off of her cheek. “I wasn’t far away.”

“It felt far away. I have two hours for lunch. Let’s get out of here.”

She scoops up her handbag, links her arm in mine, and we march out of the theater.

“What are you hungry for?” she asks.

“I haven’t had good pizza in forever.”

She stares at me with wide eyes. “Me neither. And I shouldn’t have any today.”

“Live a little.”

“You’re such a bad influence.”

“Which is code for Yes, London, I’d love to get pizza.”

“Well, duh.”

We giggle as we walk the few blocks to our favorite pizza joint, place our order, and find a booth to settle in.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too. I needed to be at the beach to get better. The city was stressing me out.”

“I know.”

“But now that I feel better, being home is awesome.”

The waiter delivers my two slices and her one slice with a side salad.

“I can’t believe you’re eating pizza.”

“I had a burger for dinner last night,” I inform her. “And you know what? I might have another one tomorrow.”

“I mean, I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but how? How can you eat like that after you didn’t for so long?”

“I don’t eat this way all the time,” I reply honestly. “I’ve just missed the food we can get in the city. And before you say it, I know I’ve gained a little weight.”

“Well, you could barely walk for a long time, so that’s to be expected,” Sasha says logically.

“I’m going back to the gym starting tomorrow. And I’m going to try a dance class too.”

“Do you think you’ll audition for something?”

I chew my pizza, thinking about the script sitting in my condo.

“Maybe, but not for a while. I’m not in shape for it, and frankly, I don’t know if I want to go back to the rigorous lifestyle, Sash.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t know. I’m not twenty anymore, and working from six in the morning until midnight just doesn’t appeal to me the way it once did. My body isn’t the same. Yes, I’ve recovered from the injury, but I just don’t know if I want to put myself through it again.”

“I know, it’s a lot of work. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m talking about it with you. I’ve assumed from day one in the hospital that Broadway was over for me.”

“Which is silly.”

“No. It’s not.” I shrug. “It’s never been about the fame for me. It’s the work. But you know what? It’s been amazing to take some time off. To sleep in, to eat pizza without beating myself up for it later. I kind of like the new curves. But I can’t do that and live the lifestyle I have to live to be at the top of my game for the theater.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Well, for now, I’m going to live my life and eat pizza. Because life’s too short to do otherwise. And I saw Jeffrey Cameron a couple of weeks ago.”

“In London,” she guesses. “I was worried about that trip.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? Because Finn is still sort of a stranger. What if he took you there to kill you and throw you in the Thames?”

“Hi, overreactor,” I reply, and roll my eyes. “He’s not a stranger to me.”

“He’s a stranger to me. Anyway, what did Jeffrey say?”

I quickly tell her about the movie that Jeffrey wants me to consider, and she’s smiling and clapping before I get through the story.

“You’re so movie-star material.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“I know, it’s the work. But it’s good work, London. And he’s right, this could be the perfect way to get into films. You have the talent and the love for it. It oozes out of your pores.”

“Ew.”

She rolls her eyes. “And you’re right, it wouldn’t be as taxing on you physically. There would still be long days, and choreography, but it’s different.”

“I think I could do it.”

“You bet your sweet, naturally skinny ass you could.”

I bite my lip. “So, I think I’m going to L.A. in a couple of weeks.”

“Atta girl. Now, when do I get to meet Mr. Wonderful?”

Chapter Nine

~Finn~

We’re shopping on Fifth Avenue in the heart of Manhattan on a Friday afternoon. People walk briskly past us, traffic is loud and constant, the sun is out, and London was absolutely right.

Shopping with her is no joke.

We’ve visited Bergdorf Goodman, where she tried on clothes for about an hour before deciding on three things.

Only three things. And she wouldn’t let me buy them for her, which didn’t please me.

We just left Louis Vuitton, which is three stories of bags, shoes, clothes, and jewelry. Again, she compared and agonized, and then left without anything at all, despite my offer to buy whatever she wanted.

“I’d like to go into Chanel,” she says, and points to the building ahead.