Page 34 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Two Years Ago, October

No one else comes close. It’s no comparison.

A t Monday’s all-staff meeting, Julienne announced a competition of sorts that The Mountain held once a year.

It was open to all employees with less than two years at the company who held the position of editorial assistant or below—a rite of passage they lovingly called The Newcomers Competition, or The Newbie Comp.

The rules? Terrifying, to say the least. Not because they were overly strict and unattainable, but because they were so damn open-ended.

The challenge was for all participants to submit an article on anything related to their sector of the company. The article had to be unlike anything currently in print and “personal to the writer.” Whatever that meant.

“The Newbie Comp is a tradition at The Mountain . It isn’t required, but you’d be stupid not to take the opportunity,” Julienne said, her black twists falling over her shoulder as she stood.

“It’s decently low risk and high reward.

Find something missing in the content we cover here, look for the blind spots, and shine a light on them.

What do you care about? What content do you want more of?

What do our readers need to see that they aren’t getting? ”

Ha-Joon scribbled notes furiously into his notebook, his straight black hair falling over his forehead as he stooped closer to the paper. I shot Wren a look from across the boardroom table.

What are we getting ourselves into?

Her responding look said, No fucking clue .

“We don’t ask you to participate for no reason,” Julienne continued. “The writer of the article we choose to move forward with will have special perks in the future. For one, a callout on the title page of the February cover.”

Four months away. Hushed tones spread in the room. Veteran writers nodded as if reminiscing on their experiences in The Newbie Comp.

“For two, the writer selected will have an edge over their peers next time there’s a promotion up for grabs. And three”—Julienne smirked—“bragging rights. Being a published writer for The Mountain less than two years into the job.”

“Holy shit,” Wren mused, stars in her eyes.

“Spend some time stewing on what to produce for this,” Julienne continued.

“Do your research. Dig deep. I want all the applicants to give me something they genuinely care about. I want to feel it in the writing. And I want someone from our sector to win this damn thing. Applications, along with your article, will be due the first Friday after the New Year.”

Wren, Ha-Joon, and I glanced at each other.

The three of us were the only copy editors in the music sector eligible for the competition.

On top of that, we’d been the writers scrambling for more opportunities, and busting our asses doing grunt work in the meantime.

This could be a big break for one of us .

The only problem was that while the two of them jotted down ideas, I could think of nothing. How was I drawing such a blank?

“Could they have been any more vague?” Wren hissed as the three of us sat for lunch at our favorite sushi place across the street an hour later.

“Truly,” Ha-Joon agreed. “The word ‘unique’ should be eradicated from the planet. What does that even mean by today’s standards? There is nothing left that is truly original. It literally doesn’t exist.”

“I think they just want it to feel like something more opinion-based?” I spooned my miso soup. “Julienne used the word ‘personal’ no less than thirty times.”

“So, there’s only one article getting chosen? I’m so exhausted, I feel like I hallucinated the meeting.” Wren rested her freckled face in her hands, her mop of red hair tumbling over her shoulders.

I patted her gently between the shoulders. “I saw you writing ideas down, though.”

“I was just doodling to look like I was busy,” she mumbled into her hands. “Maybe I could do something about classical music? I didn’t spend twelve years learning piano for nothing. But who’s going to read about that?”

Ha-Joon sat motionless, contemplating potential topics so fervently that I could practically see the gears turning in his head. He was diving into his mental rabbit hole—who was I to stop him? I needed to prepare as much as everyone else, but the paradox of choice left me gridlocked.

My phone buzzed in my lap.

Kieran

Looking forward to seeing you again this weekend .

It turned out there was no “catch” when it came to Kieran. A handful of dates in, and it was hard not to be smitten by Kieran. It was like dating a real grown-up for the first time. Every time we got together, it was exactly as any person would have hoped a budding relationship would be.

For the first time in a long time, there was someone who gave me butterflies.

There had been nobody since Nate, and it felt liberating to be touched like that again.

Desired like that again. Only this time, it was out in the open for the world to see, not kept like a secret everyone knew but nobody talked about.

I turned my phone face down, shifting my attention back to Wren and Ha-Joon.

“There’s time to figure it out,” I reassured them, but it was mostly for myself. “Applications aren’t due for months, but we can schedule a spitballing sesh if we need to bounce ideas off each other. For now, let’s focus on stuffing our faces with sushi, shall we?”

The last Saturday in October started the best way a Saturday in October can start.

The cold autumn air pushed through my window, cracked open to let the sound of drizzling rain fill the apartment.

It pattered gently against the glass while I made my second cup of tea, turned moody acoustic music on, and settled on the couch to brainstorm my Newbie Comp project.

While my peers tackled the project head-on, I’d spent the last two weeks ruminating on what topic to choose.

It had to be personal. Something we individually cared about. Something substantial enough that it required research, compelled us to “dig deep,” and was captivating enough to earn me a promotion when the time came.

After brainstorming with Wren and deciding I hated the ideas, I wound up back at my original topic.

It was the only one I kept coming back to, no matter where else I tried to look.

The only thing I felt passionate enough about—and held strong enough opinions for—to be able to write a compelling article on: the underground, independent artists in the greater New England area who were severely overlooked in the music industry time and time again.

From my experience, some of the most well-versed musicians and lyricists of the decade were relative nobodies in the industry for the worst reason in the world.

They had all the talent and skill to become chart-topping, fandom-inspiring, world-touring artists.

The only thing they lacked was the right foot in the right door.

It was silly for me not to use the potential platform that would come from winning the Newbie Comp to lift those artists up.

I just had to figure out how I was going to tackle the topic in a way that did it justice.

I’d planned to do that for the majority of the day—researching, listening to records, and taking notes—but in the late morning, I was interrupted by my phone buzzing somewhere in the mountain of blankets wrapped around me.

Lifting my laptop, I dug around the fluffy down layers until I finally found the lit-up screen.

Kieran

Movie night tonight? My place?

A stupid grin spread across my face. I’d been secretly waiting for the invitation, knowing it was going to come soon.

Me

Depends on the movie…

Kieran

Is it even a rainy night in October without a scary movie to go with it?

Kieran

I have warm blankets and caramel corn. All I need is someone to keep me safe from a few ghosts.

I rolled my eyes. Cheese ball. And yet, my grin grew.

Me

HA that was terrible.

Me

Okay. You’ve convinced me

Me

Only because of the caramel corn though

The three dots next to his name appeared, then disappeared.

I watched as they appeared and disappeared a second time before I mentally smacked myself for staring at the stupid dots to begin with.

Tossing my phone back on the couch, I stood and stretched my cramped legs, but still lunged for it the second his reply buzzed.

Kieran

We may as well make it a sleepover while we’re at it.

That night, I drove to Kieran’s house with music blaring to drown out my thoughts and the nervous energy crept up my throat.

Not that I was counting, but two years had passed since I’d been intimate with anything that wasn’t silicone and lived in my dresser drawer. Not since that last time with Nate, before I found out about his girlfriend. I shook the bitter memory from my thoughts.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

If we were talking technicalities, this was my fifth date with Kieran. And spending the night meant exactly one thing.

I attempted to do more project research after his text that morning; then I pretended to read, pretended to watch TV, and pretended to clean, all the while fixating on what the evening promised.

I gave up around three o’clock to take an Everything Shower.

The kind where you exit the bathroom as a brand new, fully formed, smooth, exfoliated, moisturized, virtually hairless goddess.

Then I went to the store to pick up a bottle of Kieran’s favorite red wine— you can’t show up empty-handed, right?

—and ended up also buying a new pair of lacy underwear and a matching pajama set.

Kieran’s house was positioned on the corner of a quaint brick road in a beautifully historic side of town. His neighborhood was unsurprisingly picturesque, with tall trees decorating the view, their crunchy orange and yellow leaves floating through the air as the soft evening breeze blew through.

He’s living in a Hallmark movie.

I parked on the street, and before I could open the door, Kieran was already striding down the front path, which, of course, was lined with brick and perfectly landscaped .

“Hey,” he said, pulling my overnight bag out of my hands despite my objections.

The inside of Kieran’s house was as beautiful as the outside.

The house itself had so much character that very little decoration was needed, but I had to give him some credit.

The hardwood floors in each room were accented by subdued, muted area rugs.

The huge leather sectional couch in the living room matched perfectly with the mahogany coffee table and gold lamps throughout the first floor.

A fireplace crackled gently, creating an autumnal ambiance that made me want to curl up with a blanket and never leave.

As we rounded the corner into the kitchen, I spied an array of snacks spread across the deep countertop. “What’s all this?” I smiled.

“Movie snacks.” Kieran grinned.

Dried fruits, mixed nuts, pretzels—not my personal pick for movie snacks, but still sweet—and, thank god , the promised caramel corn. Next to the snacks, low-calorie spiked seltzer and all the makings for whatever cocktail I might want to drink.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

Will I ever get to a place where I don’t feel uncomfortable when someone does something thoughtful for me? Probably not.

“Of course I did.” He reached for the bottle of wine in my hands. I stared at the corded muscles in his arms as he inserted the bottle opener and began twisting the cork out of the neck. “I’m trying to impress you, remember?”

I scoffed, reaching for the caramel corn and popping a piece into my mouth. “Consider me impressed.”

The sun was setting as we turned on the first movie—a horror film about a secret cult of ancient witches using blood magic to lure young men to their deaths. Good for them , I thought, as the first victim unwittingly thought he could violate the supreme witch’s sister and get away with it.

Kieran’s house was as drafty as it was charming.

Halfway through the movie, he retrieved a thick comforter from the hall closet and draped it over the two of us, tucking me close to his side.

I didn’t mind the chill. In fact, it—combined with the scary movie and the crackling fireplace—only made me want to cuddle up more.

We stayed that way until the end credits snaked menacingly across the screen to an eerie ambient tune.

Other than our cuddling, Kieran kept his hands fairly to himself the entire movie, which drove me crazy.

Something about the act of having a movie night where we actually watched the movie instead of using it as background noise for other nocturnal activities was a turn-on.

“Okay.” Kieran’s eyes squinted at the TV as he stood, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin.

After a brief intermission to use the restroom and pour another glass of wine, we debated the next movie.

“What’s the next vibe we’re feeling? Serial killer trying to break into a cabin or a classic possessed doll? ”

“Definitely the serial killer,” I decided, sipping my red wine, grimacing.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

Joining me again on the couch, we maneuvered and adjusted until we were lying down, my back against his chest, his arms draped under my head and over the curve of my waist. The movie started with an immediate scare, which had me jumping an inch off the couch.

He laughed at me as if he didn’t jump too.

The movie pressed on, the serial killer stalking his prey from the edge of the woods before the main character realized there was no phone reception and nowhere to go. Kieran idly drew circles on my hip as we watched, fingers pausing only when the anticipation of the movie rose.

My attention drifted halfway through as his circles traveled up my hip and around my waist, playing with the inch of skin showing above my jeans.

The innocent woman on the screen looked out her window to see the serial killer standing just on the other side of the glass, staring at her, and I kept my eyes glued to the screen as Kieran’s hands continued their ministrations around the soft skin of my belly.

When his fingers inched up at a snail’s pace, my breath deepened in anticipatory response.

His lips traveled closer to my neck, his facial hair ticklish and maddening all at once. I tilted my head to give him better access to the sensitive skin and thought, This is it , when he planted a lingering kiss to my neck.

“Upstairs?”

I had no idea how Kieran and I happened. One day, we were strangers, and then we weren’t. But after that night, he was mine.