Part 9 (1/2)

”OK, I'm in.”

”Beautiful, beautiful. Thanks.”

I hung up, closed my eyes, and leaned back into the seat of the taxi.

Things were definitely moving forward in a good way, but I was exhausted.

a a a By the time I finally met up with Jake that evening, it was nearly time for me to go to bed again.

”A jam and marmalade street fair? For real?” Jake finished the last bite of his steak. We were at Jack the Horse Tavern, a popular restaurant on Hicks Street not too far from my apartment. I'd wanted to celebrate my first real ”account” with a fancy dinner, but I was fighting just to stay awake. And I was already stressed about having to get up again at the crack of dawn.

”For real. I've given up asking questions. Now I just go where I'm told.” In the two months since I'd arrived, I'd shot footage for Honey on Your Mind at a tiny dog show, a cupcake bakery, a brewery, and a store that sold items made only out of licorice. Some we never used, but much of it had been well received. Scotty and the production crew clearly knew what they were doing, so I'd quickly learned to just go with it.

”Should I come with you?” Jake asked.

I looked up from my plate. ”You want to come with me?”

”Yeah, why not? It'll be fun to see you in action. Plus you know what they say, a real man can never have enough marmalade in his pantry.”

I laughed. ”But what if I choke?”

”You won't choke.”

”But what if I get all nervous and fl.u.s.tered because I know you're watching?” I pointed at him. ”You know my unfortunate history of getting nervous and fl.u.s.tered around you.”

He smiled and put his hands up. ”OK, OK, I won't go.”

Suddenly, visions of my earlier standoffish behavior toward him, back when we were first getting to know each other, flashed before my eyes. I didn't want to make that mistake again.

”You know it's not that I don't want to spend time with you, right?” I said quickly.

”Of course I do.”

”Because I totally want to spend time with you, I really do.”

He motioned for the check. ”It's OK, really, I know. Don't worry, I'll find something else to do. Maybe I'll play tourist and check out Times Square or the Empire State Building.”

I did the math in my head. If I was gone all morning that would mean I'd cut our ”weekend” together down to one dinner at which I'd been half-asleep.

Suck it up, Waverly.

”How about you come, but maybe you could promise to stay...like a hundred blocks away during the taping?” I smiled weakly and awaited his reply.

He laughed and scratched his eyebrow. ”Did you just say a hundred blocks away?”

I held up two fingers. ”Or how about we agree on two blocks away? Two blocks should provide me with a freak-out-free buffer zone.”

”Make it one and you have a deal.”

I paused for a moment, then reached across the table and shook his hand. ”Done.”

”You drive a hard bargain, Miss Bryson.”

”I could say the same thing about you, Mr. McIntyre.”

He held on to my hand and smiled at me, and when I looked into his blue eyes, I stopped thinking about marmalade. I also stopped being tired.

I pulled his hand to one side of the table without letting go. ”You ready to get out of here?”

”I thought you'd never ask.”

a a a When my alarm went off at six the next morning, I knew exactly how Paige had felt the day before. Hooking up with a hot guy until the wee hours is awesome...until the sun comes up and it's time to face real life.

I sat straight up in bed and reached to turn off the alarm, and then put my face in my hands.

Good lord, I'm exhausted.

My face is going to look puffy on camera.

Holy frick, I'm tired.

Jake put his hand on my lower back. ”You doing OK?” His voice was soft and warm.

My face was still in my hands. ”I'm so tired, Jake,” I whispered. ”How do people survive on so little sleep?”

”You'll get used to it. You're playing in the big leagues now.”

I kept my face in my hands. ”I don't think people who need nine hours of sleep last very long in the big leagues.”

I would have gladly ironed everything in my closet to be able to sleep for three more hours, but I knew the show must go on, literally, so I dragged myself out of bed. Jake, who was apparently immune to sleep deprivation, made us coffee and went downstairs to retrieve the paper while I showered. I'd grown to love reading the Sunday New York Times on the couch in my pajamas, but that clearly wasn't going to happen today.

We were out the door by seven.

Scotty's street fair idea was a hit with the loyal viewers of Love, Wendy, who flooded us with thanks for giving them a fresh slice of life in New York City. Unfortunately, however, that success meant that suddenly I was working every weekend, when most street fairs take place. Before I knew it, I'd covered the Puerto Rican Day Parade, Oktoberfest, the Great Third Avenue Fair, the Times Square Autumn Carnival, the Brooklyn Flea, and the Union Square Autumn Fair. And that was just on weekends. During the week we'd also continued our man-on-the-street interviews at the hockey rink at Chelsea Piers, the zoo in Central Park, Coney Island, the new World Trade Center site, and Governor's Island.

It was fun, but with everything going on with both Honey on Your Mind and Waverly's Honey Shop, I felt like I was living on a conveyor belt. The days flew by, and before I knew it, I'd gone nearly a month without speaking to Andie or McKenna. New-mom McKenna probably didn't even notice, but Andie had left me at least two voice mails, maybe even three. Between tapings, meetings, managing online product orders, schlepping them to the post office, and dealing with reader e-mails, it was all I could manage to try to speak to Jake each night before collapsing into bed, and sometimes I wasn't even able to do that. Throw in the three-hour difference between New York and San Francisco, and I could never find the right time, much less the energy, to call anyone back. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd spoken to my own dad.

Finally, one unusually quiet Wednesday night, I sat down on the couch, picked up the phone, and called Andie.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”Hey, it's me.”

”I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number. I don't know anyone named me.”

”Andie...”

”Who is this again? I don't have this number programmed into my phone.”

”C'mon, Andie. Throw me a bone here.”