“Ahem. You left me,” Veronica corrects when we finally separate. “You revisionist historian, you.”
“I’m the worst,” I agree, then I wrap Hazel in a hug too. “Maybe you should move to Los Angeles. Join me here, Hazel. Do it, do it, do it.”
She shakes her head, her red locks swishing back and forth. “New York suits my cold, black heart.”
“Truer words,” I say with a wink, then slide into the booth. After we order—tofu scramble for this aspiring vegan—I turn to my brunette bestie, squeezing Veronica’s hand. “For the record, it’s been less than a week and I miss you terribly. I don’t know how I’ll survive without living across the hall from you. I might start a GoFundMe to move you and Milo here to Los Angeles, ideally Venice Beach, and preferably to the house next to mine.”
“You’ve already picked out a new home for them in Los Angeles?” Hazel asks with a huff. “Great. Just great. Now I’ll never see my sister again.”
Veronica shoots me a curious smile. “Tell me more about this house next to yours. Does it have a balcony? A pool? Any other amenities that would lure me away from New York? Though, there is that little matter of Milo’s shop being in, you know, New York City.”
Yeah, that’s the flaw in my plan—her beau’s burgeoning bike and flower shop located smack dab in Manhattan. “Then please consider learning teleportation. It would make my life easier. Or try to land as many Date Night for One parties in Los Angeles as possible,” I suggest, since I’m helpful like that. Plus, I’m a huge fan of Date Night for One’s subscription boxes for sex toys, since, well, I like toys.
Veronica’s green eyes pop. “Oh! You should come to my party this week. The woman hosting it runs a jewelry shop in Venice Beach full of local female artists. Her name is Rachel, and she and some of the other women-owned businesses are throwing the party for their customers.”
I wiggle a brow. “Girl, you had me at sex toys.”
“Ellie’s easy like that,” Hazel chimes in drily as the server arrives with our coffees and teas.
We thank him, and Veronica shifts moods shooting me a serious look. “How are you doing with the Fabio’s List news?”
I cringe. “I was hoping to bury my head in the sand. But since I can’t, I’m doing okay. Though, Mama Snow hounded me hard about my dating habits yesterday. She wants to set me up with all her friends’ sons. She thinks that’ll help me”—I sketch air quotes—“break the bad boy habit.” Then I sigh, resigned. “She’s probably not wrong. Dexter is in prison.”
Veronica smiles sympathetically. She’s too nice to agree, but her silence says I need to go to reform school. Then, she clears her throat. “Maybe you could turn over a new leaf in Los Angeles?” she suggests.
Oh! And she’s not too nice after all! But I need a kick in the pants. “I know,” I admit, then take a sip of my coffee. “But how? How the hell do I just find a nice guy? It’s hard enough to date these days. The whole premise of my TV show is the games people play when dating.”
Hazel hums, a sure sign the romance novelist is planning a plot twist for me. “I have an idea,” she says, sounding deliciously clever, which she is. “I was listening to a dating podcast, and it’s all about turbo-boosting your dating life with different challenges. It reminds me of your show a little bit. And one of the ideas is if you’re seeing someone, you try three dates where you come up with new places to go—pickling carrots, kite flying, candle sniffing.”
Veronica arches a brow. “Candle sniffing is a thing?”
“Everything is a thing,” Hazel says, then zooms on down Idea Lane. “And there are other challenges. Like, challenge yourself to swipe right on three guys who are out of your comfort zone.”
“So, for me, that’d be a priest, a monk, and a missionary?”
Veronica laughs. “Ellie, why do I suspect you’ve already defrocked a priest at some point in your life?”
I knit my brow, cycling back through my past loves. “I wish. I’ve had some seriously hot priest fantasies,” I admit.
Hazel gives me a look that says so not surprised then marches onward. “So the challenge for you, Ellie, would be to avoid hot priests, because that’s a recipe for trouble.” She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then her eyes twinkle. “I’ve got it! By the power vested in me as one of your girlfriends, I challenge you to go on one date with a good guy.”
Ooh, I do love a challenge. “So this is the Good Guy Challenge?”
“Yes, do it, Ellie,” Veronica urges.
“But how do I find him?” I ask, instantly intrigued. I would like to change my fortune.
“Is there someone you know? Maybe from high school or college?” Veronica suggests, then lifts her cup of chai tea and takes a drink.
“I studied theater. Most of the guys were gay.”
“Fair point,” Veronica says, then taps her chin. “And your actor friends?”
“I don’t like to mix business and pleasure. It’s hard enough as a woman trying to make it in Hollywood,” I say. “That’s why I started scriptwriting. I didn’t want to face the inevitable invisibility that comes with turning thirty-five, watching roles dry up, except for the mom, the teacher, or the gay guy’s best female friend. On the flip side, a man can bang anyone as long as he’s still standing, even if he needs a cane or a walker.”
“Amen,” Veronica agrees. “But back to the challenge. Who do you know outside of Hollywood?”
“Hmm. I need someone I can take home to Mom,” I muse, picturing the birthday party coming up for Aunt Tilly. Hosted at my mom’s house—the home where I grew up.
Oh!
An image pops into my head.
The guy who lived down the street from me growing up. He was older than me, and he used to help all the moms with yard work and chores. “I know! Gabe Clements,” I say.
Hazel tilts her head. “The football player? As in, the receiver for the Los Angeles Mercenaries?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Oh, that’s right. When we watched that game last year, you said that’s my sexy next-door neighbor.”
I sure did. I enjoyed the hell out of watching Gabe play football. Every time I saw him rip off his helmet, I had heart palpitations. His eyes made my stomach flip even through the TV screen.
“Gabe’s perfect for the challenge,” I say, jazzed by this idea already. “He’s the consummate good guy. He helped all the moms. They always cooed about what a sweetheart he was, bringing their trash cans back from the street, mowing their lawns, and so on. My mom always went on and on about what a good guy he was.”
“He sounds great then,” Hazel says.
He sure does.
But I have other memories of Gabe, more private ones. Ones I don’t share with my friends.
Like when I was fifteen and home alone on a Saturday in May. My parents took my sister and brother to the Santa Barbara baseball tournament for the day. But the game went into extra innings, so they decided to snag a hotel room. They asked Ms. Clements to send her son to spend the night so I wouldn’t be alone in the house.