Mr. Jameson:

I hope this memo finds you well. Pertaining to our last face-to-face conversation before your trip, I just wanted to say that I am adapting well to my recent move to Los Angeles.

But there are certain...things...that have required more adaptation than I initially expected. Even though I find the atmosphere of the West Coast office enjoyable, and certainly as productive as our office in New York, I can't help but feel that there is something missing. I didn't have the sensation until you left.

I know you aren't one for "sensations". I know you aren't one to listen to your gut. You are careful, and conservative, and a conquering force in the advertising world. You are someone who thinks through every consequence of your decisions—generally speaking—and plans for every outcome in advance. You are someone that I admire. Have I ever told you this? Really, truly told it to you? Maybe I never thought it was something you needed to hear from me.

Maybe I was wrong.

William tells me the onboarding was more successful than he thought possible. I just wanted to take a moment to personally congratulate you. I know it wasn't your first choice of project. Whatever happens in the future, I just want you to know that I appreciated our collaboration.

Here's to many more successes across the pond.

"This has to be the longest memo in Jameson Agency history," Trinity muttered as she glanced through the wall of text she had typed up on her phone. There wasn't a whole lot else to do in L.A. traffic but stare at her cell screen as the cab driver honked and swore.

Somehow, this memo was the result.

The cab alighted on the hotel's curb. Trinity paid and got out. She stood a moment, gazing up at the enormous, decadent face of her temporary home. She had kept her room on the top floor overlooking the beach. William had been surprisingly agreeable to the idea of her coming onto the L.A. expansion project, and had called in a favor with the hotels' owner; he had even offered to pay for her accommodations there as long as it took her to get settled. Her move had been impulsive, but she knew at the end of the day it was the right decision for her.

At least, she hoped she knew that.

Jessica hadn't been pleased, obviously, but agreed to come visit her as soon as she got vacation time. Trinity looked forward to it. She hadn't expected L.A. to be so...lonely. She missed Sam's infuriatingly gorgeous presence, his ideas and...

She missed Sam.

Trinity debated deleting the memo as she strolled into the lobby. There was no point to it, really—she wasn't sending it to inform him of anything, or to effect a change. She could practically hear Sam's disapproving voice in her head asking her: what's the point?

Maybe it was an act of defiance against that voice that made her hit 'send'.

She swerved immediately in the aftermath of her decision and headed for the hotel bar. After the conclusion of her first week at the West Coast office, she could really use a drink.

There was one other person there already drinking when she arrived. Her gaze glanced off a pair of broad male shoulders filling a light jacket. He was hunched down, reading something on his phone. Poor guy, she thought sympathetically. Must have had a long flight. His posture made him look as tired as she felt.

There was an undrunk Manhattan sitting on the bar beside him. For once, the bartender appeared to have made it in the right glass.

Trinity's eyes widened.

"Sam?"

Sam never came out in public in anything less than a suit, except for the days he took off early to jog. Regardless, it was Sam who turned to look at her now. His dark hair was rumpled and hanging in his eyes, and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in twenty-four hours...a record almost as long as her memo. Her eyes slid from him to look at his phone, and she realized he must have just finished reading her little dispatch. Before, when there had been a whole country—and the likelihood of a whole ocean—between them, it had seemed like a good idea.

How was she supposed to answer for it now?

"Trinity." His tone was half-wonderment, half-relief, and Trinity's heart gave an unexpected start at hearing his voice.

"What are you doing here?" She hesitated, longing to join him at the bar, and afraid the spell would break and he would disappear again the minute she brought herself any closer. "I thought you were supposed to be in New York for another week?"

"I needed to get back sooner than expected," he replied. "There was something pressing that I needed to attend to. It couldn't wait."

Their conversation paused awkwardly as they continued to take one another in. Trinity wondered how she must appear: tired, her tawny hair flat against a face already tinged with the glow of sunburn. Her makeup had likely all but vanished by now

"Can I sit down?" She surprised herself by being the first to break the silence.

Sam rose and pulled a stool out for her. Trinity nodded in mute thanks and sat down. Her fingers wrapped around the Manhattan before she could direct them otherwise; she turned it around and around as Sam settled in again beside her.

"I read your memo," he said.

Trinity nodded. "I'm sorry. I wasn't really thinking when I sent it. I know you don't like long memos, I was just...stuck in L.A. traffic. And bored." And thinking about you.

"I save every memo you send me," he replied. "I have ever since we first started working together at the agency."

Trinity rocked back in her stool as if blown by a sudden strong wind. She blinked, but Sam's expression remained as serious as the grave. "...what?" She gave a helpless laugh as his words finally touched home. "I had no idea!"

"I know it's sentimental." Sam stared at his own Manhattan, looking sheepish as it rotated on its coaster.

Trinity shook her head. "No. I promise I'm not laughing because of that. It's just that...I save all of yours, too."

They lapsed into a more comfortable silence than before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's grimace twist upward in a little half-smile.

"So. Why did you come back early?" she prodded. "Was Eddie driving you crazy?"

"No more than usual. Mainly I was driving myself crazy," Sam admitted. "Thinking about you. Thinking about how I left things between us...again."

He turned in his stool to face her, and Trinity reciprocated his posture instinctively. It was impossible for her to keep an emotional wall up between them anymore. She couldn't deny the effect seeing him now had on her. She still loved him with all her heart.

His knee brushed against hers, and Trinity didn't draw back. "I've decided to stay in L.A.," he said finally. "I have a different perspective on things here now. If I took another job, I'd just be running away from it all again. I need to learn to adapt, and I've decided there's no better place to master that skill than out here on the West Coast. I need to learn to put up with a little discomfort and remain in pursuit of what I want."

Trinity's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? But you hate L.A.," she reminded him. "You were never shy in the past about making that known. In fact, I thought leaving here was your entire goal!"

"My goal was to be with you." Sam's hand came between them to catch hers. Trinity couldn't deny how good it felt to be seized by him, to be held, with no hesitance or calculation. They had struggled to find a working medium all along, when the reality was she could never be in Sam's vicinity without yearning for him. She loved him just as much as she always had, if not more, considering all they had been through together up to this point.

"Really? I was your goal?" She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Not...not the onboarding? Not getting yourself out of the doghouse with William and moving on to a better location?"

"Trinity, the moment you walked into that waiting room in New York, I knew what I had come back for." Sam's serious eyes caught and held hers, and Trinity knew he wasn't finessing the timeframe. What he told her now was the honest truth. "I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize it. And longer to articulate it even after that."

Trinity sat back on her stool a little and didn't let go of his hand. "And just what was it you were meaning to 'articulate', Sam?"

"That I love you," he said. "I always have, and I still do. I can't help but love you, Trinity. And I think now, no matter what your answer is, I always will."

"My answer?" She could scarcely find the breath to form the words. "To what question?"

"Do you want to live here in Los Angeles?" he asked. He drew her closer to him, with none of the usual stiffness that accompanied his formality. "Do you want to make the West Coast a permanent home?"

"With you?" She asked hopefully. Sam didn't so much as hesitate before nodding. "But I thought…"

"It doesn't matter what coast I'm on. If you're not there, I'm going to find a reason to hate it," he said. "Europe would have been nice, and if I didn't have you, I might still consider the move. But…" Sam's throat worked as he swallowed, and he appeared to carefully weigh his next words. "...I've changed. My priorities have changed. The job in Europe might have been a great fit for the old Sam, but it's not a good fit for...the man I want to be. I need compromise, and improvisation, and surprises. That's where real success, and real innovation, comes from. I've realized life isn't worth living without it. I've realized life isn't worth living without you."

Trinity gave a fluttering little laugh of approval. She couldn't help it—this was the last thing she had ever expected to hear from Sam, and her pulse wouldn't steady itself. The moment she lived in felt like a dream, and she never wanted to leave it. "I just signed a lease on a one-bedroom, you know," she said as she shifted off her own stool and joined him on his. Somehow, Sam managed to make room for her.

"One bed is all we need," he replied. He propped their joined arms up on the table and squeezed her hand. "I mean, just look at what we can manage with one stool."

She chuckled. "No broom closets?"

His eyes sparked. "The occasional broom closet," he allowed.

Trinity squeezed his hand in return. "I'll take that as your consent to the idea that I may drag you out to the occasional ballroom dance lesson."

"Only if you consent to kiss me," he said.

"I think a successful negotiation has been reached," Trinity replied as she leaned in. The curve of her smile met his as they sealed the deal.