August. Two weeks post-Comic-Con.
Katie's at my penthouse. Making dinner.
She does this now. Cos over after auditions. Cooks. Stays.
We haven't talked about it. Just—happens.
"Stuart?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we talk?"
Those words never lead anywhere good.
I close my laptop. "What's up?"
She's chopping vegetables. Not looking at .
"I deleted my dating apps."
"Okay."
"Like, two weeks ago. Right after Comic-Con."
"Okay."
"I'm not seeing anyone else. Haven't been for a while. And I—I want to make sure we're on the sa page."
"We are."
"Are we?"
"Katie. I'm not seeing anyone else either. Haven't been since we started dating."
"Really?"
"Really. You're it."
She stops chopping. Turns around.
"So we're—official? Exclusive? Boyfriend-girlfriend?"
"I thought we already were."
"We never said it explicitly."
"I say 'my girlfriend' when people ask about you."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Oh." She's smiling. "Okay. Good. I just—wanted to be sure."
"I'm sure."
" too."
She goes back to cooking. Tension evaporated.
After dinner. We're on the balcony.
"Where do you see this going?" Katie asks.
"This?"
"Us."
"I—forward?"
"Stuart."
"What do you want to say?"
"The truth."
"I think—we're good together. Compatible. Our careers align geographically. We want similar things. It's working."
"That's very rational."
"Is that bad?"
"No. Just—clinical. Like you're analyzing an investnt."
"I'm not—"
"I know. I'm teasing." She's leaning against the railing. LA spread out below us. "I agree with you. We work. Both ambitious. Both want success before settling down. Both—here."
"Exactly."
"I guess I'm asking—do you see long-term potential?"
"Yes."
"Marriage?"
"Eventually. Maybe. If things continue like this."
"Kids?"
"Probably. Soday."
"You're very noncommittal."
"We've been dating three months."
"Three and a half."
"Still early."
"Fair."
She's quiet. Watching the city lights.
"Katie?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you see long-term potential?"
"I do."
"Good."
"You check a lot of boxes. Successful. Grounded. Good with people. Not intimidated by my career. Actually have your own thing going."
"Checking boxes is romantic."
"It is when you're thirty and tired of dating actors."
She's twenty-eight. Not thirty. But I don't correct her.
"I like this," she continues. "What we're building. Feels—stable."
"Stable is good."
"Stable is rare."
Morning. Katie's still asleep.
I make coffee. Check my portfolio out of habit.
Bitcoin: $10. Holding steady.
Apple: Climbing.
Total: $260,000.
She doesn't know about this. The wealth.
We just had a conversation about long-term potential and I didn't ntion I'm secretly wealthy.
That's—problematic.
My phone buzzes. Text from Leonard.
Leonard: Penny's coming back to visit next month. Just FYI.
: Thanks for heads up.
Leonard: You okay with that?
: Completely. Tell her to stop by the shop.
Leonard: Will do.
Katie walks out. Wearing one of my shirts. Hair ssy.
"Morning."
"Morning. Coffee?"
"Please."
I pour her a cup. We stand at the counter.
"I'm keeping clothes here," she announces.
"Okay."
"Like, officially. Drawer space. Closet space. Bathroom stuff."
"Makes sense. You're here all the ti anyway."
"This is moving toward living together. Eventually."
"I figured."
"You're very chill about this."
"Should I not be?"
"Most guys freak out at the cohabitation conversation."
"I'm not most guys."
"No. You're not."
She kisses . Coffee breath. Don't care.
"I love you," she says.
"Love you too."
And I do.
I love her.
She fits my life.
But I'm still hiding the wealth. The powers. The impossible knowledge.
And the mory still tingles about Emma Chen.
Like sothing's coming.
Or soone.
Katie heads to the shower. I stay at the counter.
Staring at my coffee.
Thinking about secrets.
And wondering how long I can keep them.
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