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I stared at the buzzing phone on my coffee table but refused to remove myself from the blankets and couch to answer the phone. It finally stopped ringing. But then it started again. For the fifth time. I groaned, leaning forward and grabbing the phone, answering it. "Megan—"

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for the past half an hour. Emilia, where are you?"

"I'm at the apartment," I answered, turning the TV off.

"Why are you at the apartment?"

I threw my head back, suppressing a groan and settling for rolling my eyes since that's something she wouldn't see me doing. "Where else would I be?"

"Emilia. Are you trying to throw your career away?"

I ignored her and stared at the fluffy white blanket I had on me.

"Look, it's been a year. One year since you've written anything new. You don't even have a rough idea of what to write next."

"Then let me be a one-hit-wonder," I groaned this time.

"Emilia, we're talking about your career here. Be positive."

Because you just radiate positivity all year long, huh.

"Look, you came out with your first book one year ago. Touchwood, it's been doing great. On every platform we're selling, your book still makes it into the top five. Until last month, it was in the top three. You have people looking forward to your next book now, Em. If you don't give them something, anything, they'll lose hope. You've refused any and every interview, you don't want any articles on you either.

"God, sometimes I don't even understand how your book managed to get so popular without any marketing. You're a lucky girl with creativity and talent flowing through you. Put it to good use. We're not asking you to give us a whole new manuscript. Just some idea, something to let people know that you are working something, that something new is on the way."

"But I'm not, Megan. There is absolutely nothing in the works, my mind is completely blank. I know nothing right now. I have no idea what to write next. I can't force it out of me. I didn't pursue writing to end up like this," I whined, kicking my legs around restlessly.

"Stop whining."

I stopped and sat up straighter.

"I know that. I know you by now, Emilia. I know you love putting your all in every word you get down on paper. I know how much your last story meant to you. But do you understand how much Tainted Hearts meant to people?" There was a long pause on both our ends. She sighed, "Emilia, why did we move you to New York?"

"For a change. To help the writer's block," I mumbled.

"Exactly. You can't do that if you just spend all your time cooped up in your apartment. Get out of there, go around the city a bit, meet some new people, find something inspiring and try. You're not trying, Em and I see it."

I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes and sighing softly.

"You wrote Tainted Hearts for a reason. What was that reason?"

Not what. Who.

When I didn't answer, she just said, "I have to go, I have a meeting soon. I'll call you later. Bye." She hung up.

How can I just find something inspiring? Nothing is inspiring me, that's the problem, Megan!

I stood up and padded over to the kitchen, feeling a hunger pang. I opened the fridge but found it mostly empty. The cabinets also hardly had anything. "I guess I am leaving the apartment today. Only for grocery shopping," I scoffed to myself. I went into my room and glanced at my clothes in the mirror.

I had on a light pink Nike hoodie with black joggers and bunny slippers. My hair was a red and curly mess but I already showered this morning without washing it. I traded my slippers for sneakers and then let my hair down and ran my fingers through it, putting it in a neater bun at the top of my head. Neat enough, at least.

I grabbed my wallet, tucked it into my pocket with my phone, and then grabbed my apartment keys from the bowl by the door. I turned the lights off and left, using the elevator and reaching the lobby. I let myself out and started walking down the sidewalk, heading towards the nearest grocery store.

I walked the fifteen-minute walk and reached, grabbing a cart and starting to roam around, buying all the missing things while my mind ran thoughts about a next book idea. It was torture, so desperately wanting to write something, so badly that my fingers were itching to just type away, but the moment I touch a keyboard, I'm blank. There was no idea up there.

I was trying to choose a cereal when my phone rang in my pocket. I answered, reading 'Remy' flashing on the FaceTime call. I continued walking, resting my arm on the cart.

"Hey," she sang, sitting down on a couch.

"Hey," I replied, picking up a box of Oreo O's.

"How is New York treating you?" she asked.

"Meh," I shrugged. "I don't leave my apartment much."

"Well, that's... sad. You're in New York, live it up, Em."

I turned to look at her with a frown. "You hate the east coast."

"Well, yeah, but that's for me. I'd never live there. Too chaotic. You've always liked the east coast though, haven't you? You've been wanting to go since college."

For a very different reason.

"Sure," I agreed halfheartedly. "How are Mom and Dad?" I asked.

"They're good. What time is it there? It's noon here."

"It's three o'clock."

"Dad has a final hearing for a case today, Mom's at Babycakes." Babycakes is a bakery she runs with our neighbor, Mrs. Hazel Blackwell. "God, I still can't believe she named it Babycakes," she huffed.

I laughed at the look of horror on her face. "It's not that bad. Could be worse, come on," I replied. "Anyway, tell me more. Does San Francisco miss me?"

"We've been missing you since college. But at least then you were only a one and a half hour flight away. Now you're five hours away."

"And five minutes," I added. "But I've only been gone for four months. I've been thinking of visiting soon."

"Maybe you don't have to."

I turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, propping up her elbow on her knee and holding her chin in her hand, just staring at me silently.

"Remy, what are you talking ab— Oh, my God! Is that a ring?!"

She grinned and then squealed, bouncing her knees up and down, showing it to me, bringing it closer to the camera.

"Remy!" I yelled and then froze, realizing where I was. I looked around at the people looking at me all weird but then ignored them. "Oh, my fucking God, he proposed?!"

"Yes, ma'am," she sang. "What do you think of the ring?"

"I think it's beautiful. Oh God, you're getting married!"

"I am," she squealed again.

Remy and Aspen. They've been officially together since they were in high school but we all know they've been in love since they met as little kids. Remy is twenty-eight, five years older than I am, and Aspen and she have been cozy since before I was even born. They weren't friends, per se, more like they've bullied each other through life, but things completely changed in high school for her. It was dramatic.

After her first and only crush ever had rejected her and humiliated her, Aspen swooped in and stole her heart. When he punched the guy in the face and then proceeded to ask Remy on a date because, and I quote, "I don't care what Bryan thinks. I think you're pretty and beautiful and funny and pretty and cute and um, you have nice hair, and uh, you're... pretty."

I think their relationship is absolutely adorable. I've never seen it falter, hardly seen them argue unless it's petty, never lied to each other either. In my mind, they're the definition of love. Plus, they still bully each other, so that's adorable.

"Are you guys going to wait for the wedding or jump right in?" I asked.

"We're diving in, baby. I mean, think about it. We've been together for like fourteen years. I'm ready," she laughed. "I'm ready to marry him, Em."

I stared at her with a dumb grin on my face. "I'm so happy for you! When's the big day?"

"Tenth of May."

I blinked in surprise. "Remy... that's like soon."

"I know."

Today was April twenty-fifth. "Remy, two weeks from now? Well, fifteen days, but really? Are you rushing?"

She shrugged.

I stared at her for a minute before realizing it and then chuckling softly. "You're both that eager to get married huh."

"I really love him, Em. I have for most of my life. I want him to be my husband," she sniffled.

"All right, all right, don't go sappy and cry about it now. I'm all for it! I've never seen a couple so in love as you."

"I have," she replied, wiping the corner of her eye quickly.

I blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"You."

I stopped walking too and shook my head softly.

"You and Adam were—"

"Remy, stop. Don't go there, please. We were just friends."

"All right, sorry," she said softly. "My bad."

I resumed walking, taking a bag of chips from the shelf.

"But you practically wrote the book about—"

"Remy," I snapped. "I said stop."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I sighed, glancing at everything in my cart, pretending to look through the things while I asked her, "Will he be there? I mean, why won't he? You're marrying his brother. I have to see him, don't I?"

"Actually, we're not so sure he's coming."

My eyes flew to the screen and met hers. "What?"

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