Can't Look Away(11)
The waiter came by and refilled both their wineglasses. Jake took a generous sip, his head buzzy and light. They were on their second bottle of Chianti.
He watched Molly, admiring the graceful curve of her neck as she tilted her head back, tipping the wine down her throat. “What do you want to write?” he asked. “A novel?”
Her expression brightened. “Well, I have this collection of short stories I’m working on for my thesis. And I’ve always thought … they’re kind of linked, see. The stories. So I thought I might be able to turn them into a novel.” She paused, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Jake’s eyebrows knitted together. “Said what?”
“That I’m writing something that I think could be a novel.” She reached for her wine again.
“Yeah. Wow. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Especially from a creative writing student.” He eyed her playfully.
Molly laughed, but there was a self-consciousness there. Something that didn’t quite fit with her otherwise assured demeanor. “It’s just … it’s a dream I’ve never voiced to anyone,” she told him. “Barely even to myself. I’m not sure why, because you’re right. Most of the students in my program are there because they want to write fiction, or poetry, or whatever. It’s kind of the point of an MFA.”
Jake considered this. “Maybe you haven’t voiced it because actually making it happen feels like a pipe dream,” he offered. “And the commitment it requires means acknowledging that you could fail. That you might be faced with a reality where it doesn’t work out, and you’re left wondering how you could’ve been as dumb as every other aspiring creative who wastes their time trying.”
“Yeah.” Molly’s hazel eyes scorched his. “Exactly.”
“But you know what?” Jake peered at her with genuine empathy, because he got it. He understood, possibly more than anyone. He used two fingers to tap the side of his head. “All that is just chatter in here. Ignore it. Because sometimes, it does work out. And that’s what you need to focus on.”
“Easy for you to say.” She grinned, lifting an eyebrow. “My friend Nina told me about your record deal. That’s … incredible, Jake. Truly.”
“Thanks.” He rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “Look, can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Of course.”
“Danner Lane still has a long way to go, so it’s not like I have it all figured out. But one thing I know for sure? Talent is overrated. It only gets you so far. If you really want to do something—if you want to be something—you have to put in the work. The physical, grueling hours. And no one wants to admit this, but it sucks a lot of the time. But if you work really, really hard? You can make things happen.”
Molly glanced over Jake’s shoulder, a dreamy sheen glazing her eyes.
“I know it’s hard not to think about the money,” he went on. “But you can’t. Do what you need to do to pay the bills—a day job, whatever it is. The money will come later.”
Molly looked back at him, a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “I really, really needed to hear all that, Jake.” Her gaze was vivid, honest, and he liked that about her—that she wasn’t putting on a show. She wasn’t trying to be somebody who had it all figured out; she wasn’t tripping over herself to impress him, the way girls so often did.
When the waiter dropped the check, Jake snatched it up before Molly could get a glimpse of the total: $196—expensive, but Sam had warned him when he’d suggested this place. Jake dug out his wallet and slipped his Visa inside the bill. It was certainly a splurge—six months ago, the number would’ve put a pit in his stomach—but things were different from how they had been. He could afford it. Danner Lane was making money, real money, and for the first time in Jake’s life, there was a cushion in his bank account.
Outside the restaurant, the snow had stopped, and the air was still and cool. Jake exhaled, his breath a white puff of air between them. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“That was fun. Sorry if that place was kind of stuffy. Was it stuffy?” He blinked, suddenly anxious again, which caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to these kinds of nerves around the opposite sex. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I didn’t think you’d say yes to dinner.” This wasn’t completely true, but it felt like the right thing to say. Jake was only moderately aware of his habit of doing this—of relaying to women the flattering remarks he knew they liked to hear.
“It wasn’t stuffy. It was delicious.” Molly stepped closer, and the details of her face—the sweeping line of her lashes, the small scar above her left eyebrow—mesmerized him. Jake inhaled the scent of her, heady notes of vanilla and sandalwood. “I just normally don’t go to places like that because I’m a poor student,” she said.
Jake nodded in agreement. “I can’t really afford restaurants like that, either. For the rest of the week it’ll be ramen, ramen, and ramen. All thanks to you.”
Molly grinned. “Why didn’t you think I’d say yes?”
Jake shrugged, struck with the sudden certainty that he didn’t want to bullshit this girl. There was a quality to her that captivated him—he’d felt it the moment he’d spotted her in the crowd at the Broken Mule. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—there were thousands of beautiful girls in New York, and he’d come across women that were more striking. It was the way she’d looked so firmly rooted, he decided, utterly present and expectant, ready for something to happen. On the phone, when he’d told Molly he’d never tracked down a girl from one of his shows, he hadn’t been lying.