Page 104 of Fangirl

And we needed the distance.

I needed time to figure out if I could really love him enough to step into this world. To survive it.

And maybe… he needed the time to figure out if he truly wanted me.

This isn’t a fairy tale. There’s no fade to black and happily ever after.

This is messy and terrifying and very, very real. And I’m about to land straight in the middle of it.

But the distance? It was never meant to punish him. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I just needed space. Needed to breathe, to think.

And then his text came, and it was honest in a way that undid me completely.

I’m breaking, love.It shattered what was left of my resolve.

“You’re already miserable without him.” Maya had shrugged, tossing it out there like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Why not just try? Worst case—you’ll be miserable again. At least this way, you’ll know.” Maya might be chaotic, but she isn’t wrong.

Still, the closer I get, the more my resolve wavers. Doubt is creeping in, excitement humming right beneath it. I can’t stop replaying that kiss—soft and reverent. Shamefully, I think about it way too often.

I shift in my seat, exhaling slowly as I picture the moment I’ll see him again. I managed to wrangle two weeks off, no small feat, and Maya agreed to look after Pea. She calls him Satan, but we both know she loves that one-eyed menace.

The whole thing feels surreal, like I’m floating through someone else’s life. And yet, somehow… here I am.

I even managed a few hours of sleep, though it wasn’t easy. The anticipation kept me wired all night. But thisflight? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

I was picked up by a chauffeur—no hellish 5:00 a.m. Tube ride to Heathrow this time. They took me through a private entrance, fast-tracked me through security and check-in, and then straight into an exclusive lounge with food I couldn’t even pronounce. There were lobster rolls, for God’s sake. I took a million photos for Maya because she’d never believe it otherwise.

And now… I’m here, sitting in a pod that feels more like a private room than a plane seat. The chair reclines fully into a bed, and there’s a mini fridge, a personal screen, and even a little bag of designer toiletries waiting for me.

I feel… like a celebrity or a celebrity’s girlfriend. I feel likehisgirlfriend.

The thought makes my stomach flip.

His entire mood shifted the second I told him I was coming. He called me almost immediately, his green eyes shining with unshed tears through the screen. And right then—right there—I knew. I made the right choice.

Somewhere along the way, I must’ve dozed off again because it feels like minutes later when the hostess gently taps my pod. She offers me breakfast with a polite smile and announces we’re starting our descent into LA.

“It’s ten a.m. local time,” she adds, still smiling. “A beautiful, sunny day. Seventy degrees.” My sleep-fogged brain struggles until she thankfully adds, “That’s about twenty-one Celsius.”

I blink at her. Twenty-one degrees… in February? Practically summer by London standards.

And sunny. Of course it’s sunny.

It’s LA—land of eternal sunshine, yoga pants, and lip fillers, as Maya would say. God help me.

I freshen up with the fancy products from the little amenity kit, attempting to tame my curls before finally giving up and twisting them into the only vaguely presentable knot I can manage.

We’re escorted off the plane first, guided through a private immigration booth where a perfectly polished assistant explains my luggage—everything but my carry-on—will be sent straight to my designated address.

And just like that, I’m ushered into a sleek, private lounge near the exit.

I don’t even have time to wonder who’s coming to pick me up or where we’re going—because he’s already there.

Despite the baseball cap pulled low and the black sunglasses, I know it’s him.

Jake.

And the second our eyes meet, he grins. That stupid, heart-melting grin.