Opening my eyes the next morning gives me the same feeling as a child on Christmas morning—there’s something wonderful waiting for me, and nothing in the world can dampen my enthusiasm about it.

I peek over at Tanner in the bed next to me. He’s still asleep, so I slip out of the covers and go splash some water on my face. It isn’t until I glance in the mirror that I realize I’ve been grinning the entire time.

Out in the living area, I grab a room service menu. Strong tea is on my mind. But then a stray memory creeps in, this silly thing we used to do back in the day when we were a new couple and couldn’t fathom being far enough from the bed to go to the buffet.

I actually giggle out loud. We were so ridiculous. I decide to surprise him with a recreation. The guy I place our order with doesn’t quite fail to mask his concern when I tell him we only need two sets of silverware and mugs to go along with the Belgian waffles, lox, avocado scramble, corned beef hash, breakfast burrito, and one each of every side on the menu.

What can I say? We have the kind of sex that works up an appetite.

The knock on the door comes just as Tanner is ambling out in nothing but Calvin Kleins, and as the room service attendant ushers the massive amount of food in, I can’t quite decide which looks more delicious—him or it.

“Did you order one of everything on the menu?” he asks.

“Pretty much.” I pour a large mug of coffee for him and doctor it up the way he used to like it, with cream and no sugar.

“Any western omelets in there?” He hands me my tea, fixed the way I like to drink it--sugar, no milk.

“No…” I say, suddenly worried that I should have just asked him what he wanted before going on this ordering binge.

“Thank God,” he says. “I am sick to death of eating those without you.”

I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about, but who cares, because he’s just dragged a piece of waffle through some whipped cream, and he’s holding it out for me to eat.

I lick every single bit of the whipped cream off the fork, then dab a little on him so I can lick that, too.

It’s not long before this escalates. Twenty minutes later, we’re forced to call down for more whipped cream, and I’ve just performed the tastiest blowjob of my life.

The food isn’t any less delicious for now being cold. I’ve spent so much of my time off-set sneaking around with Tanner that I’ve forgotten to work in a good room service experience during our Vancouver filming, and that used to be my favorite part of fucking in hotels.

Well, we’re more than making up for that today.

We take our time enjoying the dishes, making a mess of crumbs in the bed during the process. Finally, we’ve slowed down on our bacon intake. I take my plate back out to the living room, then return to the bed to crawl beneath the covers. Tanner meets me there, and we lie on our backs, my head on his shoulder.

Neither of us has addressed the fact that shooting will end tomorrow.

“So,” I say. I’m not avoiding this discussion. I’m really not. I’m just easing into it.

“So?” He lifts the hand of the arm I’m lying on and trails his fingers up and down my waist.

“What’s next, Tanner?” I roll over so I can look at him, but he continues to stare at the ceiling above us.

“Los Angeles. Warm weather. Press junkets. Premieres.” He’s listing our commitments to the film, not to each other. “I start filming the next Jet movie in another month. You have a zillion offers to sift through.” I roll my eyes at his exaggeration about my newly blossoming acting career. “Rinse. Repeat.”

“Yeah.” Even though he’s talking about our jobs and not us, it’s kind of the same thing. These are all things we’ll have to navigate as a couple. We might have thrown the press off our scent for now, but it’s only going to take one sighting of us in our sunglasses and sweats grabbing an early-morning bagel for TMI to realize they’ve been played. And then there we are, back in the limelight, prey for the next desperate guy with a camera who wants to make a buck off of spreading rumors about us.

It’s been heaven having all this private time with Tanner, but it’s not realistic to think that it will last. How will we weather the addition of the rest of the world into our relationship? We certainly didn’t fair well last time the outside got involved.

“Maybe we should just take things day by day,” Tanner says, finally glancing toward me and meeting my eyes.

“Yeah. Okay.” I roll onto my back again. My stomach knots.

I understand the challenges we face—the public, our past. Last time we were a couple there was a ton of attention on us. Now, it will be ten times worse. And I haven’t exactly had a chance to prove that I wouldn’t make the same exact mistakes when the articles casting doubt on us inevitably appear. It does seem like what we have is precious enough to deserve some protection. Precious enough to take our time.

Except… is it dumb that I don’t want to waste anymore time?

We’ve already spent a decade apart, why wait any longer to be together?

I sigh, loudly enough for him to squeeze me tighter. Then I close my eyes and nestle into Tanner’s embrace. I’m not going to waste this time together freaking out about the challenges we face. That’s almost all I’ve done so far, when instead I could be enjoying the feel of his long, hard body against mine. I can pretend the outside world doesn’t exist for just a tiny bit longer.

After tomorrow, our real life begins.

* * *

Our real life starts with a bang. Or more accurately, a camera flash.

The news from Vancouver has filtered down to La La Land, so I’ve hardly set foot in the terminal before there’s someone in my face asking me if it’s true that Tanner and I have been faking a relationship for publicity.

I don’t know what to say.

We flew separately hoping to avoid a scene like this, but we probably should have had a plan for this situation, just in case. “Take it one day at a time” didn’t cover what our official line would be. I have several voice messages that came through the minute the plane landed from Carrie asking the same thing, and I can’t even bring myself to call her back.

As much as I’d love to just say, we’re together but we’re keeping it private for now, even handing it off to our teams to handle feels like a violation. We need to have a real talk about this, Tanner and I. Tonight.

And in the meantime?

“No comment,” I tell the reporter as I get into the car that’s waiting for me. I take it to my house to drop off my baggage before continuing over to Tanner’s. My fingers fly across the keyboard of my phone as I desperately try to catch up on all the emails I’ve ignored over the past couple of weeks.

Carrie texts me, How come you can give me opinions on scripts within a half hour of receiving them, but not tell me what’s up with you and TJ?

I ignore it.

Walter texts seven times a day, so I ignore him too.

Finally, finally, we pull up to a gated community, where the guard checks my ID—and my boobs—before waving us on. When we pull up in front of Tanner’s house, I’m floored. The massive Spanish-style home is a far cry from the bungalow we’d shared together back in the day. It serves to remind me yet again, that he is in a very different world than he was ten years ago.

Do I fit in this world of his? Is that why he wanted to take it day by day, because he’s not sure yet?

He greets me at the door, shirtless and smiling, and my worries melt away. How can I feel insecure when this tall, gorgeous man is waiting for me?

Inside, I drop my bag and embrace him. “Your house is insane,” I tell him. I know, intellectually, that he’s worth millions, but seeing it in person is still amazing. The kid I knew back then on the brink of seeing all his dreams come true has now realized every single one of them.

“Let me show you around,” he says, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “After all, you’re going to be spending an awful lot of time here.”

“Let’s go straight to my favorite room first,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me to an ornate set of double doors at the end of a hallway across from the living area. When he flings them open, I squeal.

“Your own theater!” Everyone has their own idea of what success means to them. When we would lay in bed and sort through Tanner’s post-Jet scripts, chatting about the things we wanted—wanted to do, and wanted to be—he always said he was going to have a home theater. It would have a full bar, a concession stand stocked with his favorite things—smoked almonds and rice crackers, hummus and baba ghanoush. He’d host viewing parties for all his friends, so that the ones doing Lifetime movies could see themselves on a big screen, the ones shopping their student films around could show them to his new friends with small production companies, and everyone could enjoy the pleasure of throwing spoons at The Room any time they wanted.

I spin around, taking it all in. There’s red velvet curtains, chairs, and loveseats, the bar in the back, and a full-sized refrigerator that I assume is probably more convenient than an actual concession stand if you don’t want to walk back and forth from the kitchen a bunch of times.

Overwhelmed, I kiss him until we fall onto a loveseat.

“Did you get yours?” he asks when my head falls to the side so I can kiss down his neck. I know what he’s talking about. When Tanner met me, I had all the free things I could ask for. The hottest looks before they even touched the runway, invitations to premieres and restaurants and boutiques. There’s no better way to get buzz than to have beautiful people linked to your brand. I had an apartment I liked just fine that I almost never saw because of my crazy travel schedule.

No, I had all the physical things I could have ever have dreamed of. My barometer of success was a secret, something I never even told Tanner.

All I wanted was more of a concept: home.

I had the furniture, I had the art, but I never had the feeling. I thought I was getting it when I moved in with Tanner, but it only took a few months for me to lose it.

Now it’s starting to feel like it’s within my reach again, but I’m still not ready to share.

“Almost,” I whisper in his ear, gazing at the goosebumps I raise on his arms as I do. I suck his earlobe into my mouth, loving the way he responds.

“Is this the first room we’re going to have sex in, then?” he asks.

“The first?”

“We have to christen my house,” he says, plucking the straps of my tank from my shoulders so he can shimmy my shirt down to enjoy my bra. It’s red, and matches his theater, which makes him smile.

“Oh, yeah?” I unbutton his shirt as he slides a thumb under my bra cup to pinch my nipple.

“And then we’ll have to christen yours, of course.” He pulls my breast out to suck where he was just touching, and I arch toward him.

“Of course,” I say. I give up on his buttons and relax back, letting him feast on me.

A phone rings. We ignore it. It rings again, followed by his cell.

“I’m sorry.” He pulls back, but groans when we break contact.

“No, I get it.” And I do. We wouldn’t have a theater to christen if he wasn’t popular. He answers the phone and mouths “my agent” at me, walking out of the room to talk. I pull my bra back up and take in the theater again. It really is amazing.

And when I’m with him, I really do feel like home may not be a place after all, but a feeling.

“Good news and bad news,” Tanner says, walking back in. “Good news, we get a week in New York where no one cares what celebrities are up to. Bad news, we have to leave right now.”

“Oh, Tanner!” I can’t believe the shitty timing. “I can’t go to New York, I literally just booked a guest role on Karma Kills. Like on the way over here. And it shoots all week. What are you doing, do you have to go?”

“It’s Saturday Night Live,” he says.

Well, yeah, he has to go.

And fuck. I wish I could go with him.

“You were hilarious last time,” I tell him, not too proud to admit that I watched his episode multiple times. “Who’s the musical guest?”

“Nick Ryder.” I throw myself back in the loveseat and make a dramatic pose.

“He’s my favorite! This is so unfair. How will we christen the house now?”

“Do it without me.” I know the look on his face right now, and it’s dirty. “Finish the tour while I’m gone, and christen them solo. Send me pictures, playing with your pussy in every room.” I’m wet already, and the idea of teasing him for a week alleviates just a little of the anxiety I feel about how this relationship will work if we’re forced to be apart so soon.

“Okay,” I say.

“That’s my perfect girl,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head and getting back on the phone to make travel arrangements. I pull out my phone, too, and text Walter. Having Tanner gone just as soon as we’ve landed is convenient for my bestie, for sure. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen his face, and I owe him a long conversation. I text:

In-person catch up Saturday, SNL slumber party at my place?

He doesn’t even bother to respond with words, just a string of booze emojis. Looks like I’ll survive the week after all. But there’s still something I haven’t done, something I need to do now. So as Tanner walks out the door, I call after him.

“I love you.”