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Surrey, England
Iris doesn’t quite know how to follow a first date that happens on New Year’s Eve at her brother’s house.
None of her relationships ever really got to the “meet the family” stage—the Sisyphean nightmare that was her and Jasper’s whatever-ship didn’t even get past the “meet the local chippy staff” stage—so she feels lost at sea.
She got rather used to feeling lost at sea in LA and carrying on, though, so she decides to ask Miles what he thinks should follow.
“Well, whatever we want,” he says with an easy shrug and that warm, encompassing smile that makes Iris feel like nothing can truly ever be that bad. “I have a room at that little hotel that looks like a kooky movie set until January 10th, so until then, the sky’s the limit, Simpkins.” He pauses. “What exactly is a local chippy, though? We could start there.”
And they do.
By the time they leave the chippy, Miles is bosom friends with the owner, the owner’s son, the owner’s extremely grumpy cat, and has managed to make every patron laugh rather than cringe over a chips vs. fries bit.
Iris also gets a promise for a free order of fish and chips the next time she stops in, something which a lifetime of faithful patronage had not achieved prior.
“Miles, you are truly something of a wonder,” she tells him, as he puts an arm around her for the walk back to the cottage.
“I’m just real good at speaking potato,” he says, and then quirks an eyebrow. “Well, once I know it’s potatoes I’m talking about.”
Once they make it inside the cottage, it turns out that Miles is also real good at putting his mouth to her and making Iris have an orgasm so intense it nearly topples more than a few of her books off the shelf, so overall, she thinks the follow up to their first date is a success.
The next nine days are so close to perfection Iris pinches herself more than once, just in case she’s having a too-vivid fantasy because she fell asleep after watching one of Arthur’s movies, but it turns out everything is real every time.
And her skin bruises just a little where she’s pinching, so she definitely needs to stop.
She talks to Amanda about it during one bright, cold afternoon, as they watch Miles chase Sophie, Olivia, and Graham around the garden, loudly roaring as if he’s some cross between the Grinch and Godzilla.
“Sometimes I still don’t quite believe he’s that good,” she says.
Amanda sips her tea in contemplative silence for a moment, grimaces unconsciously—she’s been attempting to drink it as a sort of acclimation exercise but Iris can tell she’s not going to give up coffee—and then says, “He really is good to the bone. Out of the mutual friends Ethan and I had, I don’t think I would’ve allowed anybody else to go to my house after the breakup.”
She pauses, tilts her head.
“I mean, it’s not that Ethan was really a bad guy, either. We just fell out of love and neither of us pulled the plug in time.” Amanda takes another sip of tea, shrugs. “Hell, maybe the bad guy was me—I think I figured out we were wrong for each other way earlier and pushed him away instead of just saying it.”
Iris places a hand on Amanda’s shoulder, takes the mug of tea from her and replaces it with a cup of coffee.
“You’re not a bad guy, Amanda. Love is—it’s a muddle. We’re all just trying our best, and sometimes we hurt each other,” she says. “Making a mistake isn’t really the problem, I don’t think. It’s—it’s when people are cruel in love that it’s a problem.”
The shade of Jasper Bloom threatens to darken her thoughts, but Iris shakes it off. He doesn’t belong in this place full of sunlight and laughter and family.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Amanda says softly, then raises her coffee cup to toast Iris’ pilfered mug of tea. “Here’s to finally finding our way out of the muddle.”
Iris smiles, toasts back.
Then, Miles calls to her from the garden, “Sweetie, I could use a hand to defeat these horrid little scamps!” and she finishes her tea in one long drink before wading into the fray, tackling Graham into the ground while he’s distracted.
The girls shriek with laughter while Graham cries about fair play, and Amanda calls the battle in favor of Mr. and Mrs. Grinch-Godzilla.
She doesn’t think any of them have laughed this hard since Graham’s wife died.
“Hey Iris? I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me on New Year’s Eve,” Miles tells her, as they’re walking back to the cottage that night—he checked out of his room at the B&B after a couple of nights, because it seemed silly to send him back there night after night when all Iris wanted to do was keep him.
“I’m really, really glad you asked,” Iris says.
Their nine days eventually come to an end, and Miles has to go back to L.A.
Iris, despite generally disliking Heathrow immensely, can’t make herself let Miles take the journey from Surrey to the airport alone, not when it means a little more time together.
She also can’t quite make herself actually let him walk through security once they’re finally there.
“Hey—I’ll call,” Miles says softly, kissing the side of her head. “I promise.”
And Iris knows he will, because Miles is a man who means what he says, and says what he means. But after three miserable years on the Jasper Bloom tilt-a-whirl, it’s something she’s still getting used to.
“I’ll answer,” she finally replies, knowing her voice is betraying so much more than her words.
Miles leans in for one last, deep kiss, and then finally heads towards the security line, probably some thirty minutes later than he should have.
Iris watches him go, waits for the predictable enthusiastic wave after he’s gotten through, and finally makes her way out of Heathrow.
The air outside is shockingly cold on her face after the heat inside the airport, and yet it seems suffused with something that feels pretty close to hope.
Los Angeles, CA
Iris decides it’s her turn to visit Miles during Easter.
Several practical things drive her decision: she has much more leave accrued than she actually knows what to do with, since she was usually happy to cover much of the holidays for her colleagues due to her “tragic single status”, not too many people get married during Easter so their weddings don’t get mixed up with the crucifixion, and it’s quite frankly bloody freezing in England—she could use a little LA sunlight.
But, truly, what makes her purchase the ticket is one essential truth: she misses Miles.
They talk all the time, because he’s definitely kept his promise.
They talk, and they Skype, and they email, and Miles has actually sent her at least three ridiculous novelty postcards with varying attempts at haiku love poems. Iris has, of course, stuck all three on her fridge.
But all the talking in the world can’t quite make up for the warmth of his presence or the fact that she can’t quite catch every shade of brown in his eyes through the pixels of a computer screen.
Miles is ecstatic when she lets him know, Arthur informs her he has a whole new list of movies to give her, and Amanda tells her she could use some help packing up her house because she’s moving to London for a while, so Iris practically flies out of the office the day before her flight, almost flattening Jasper Bloom in her haste.
He calls after her, and she feels absolutely no need to turn back.
She gets off the plane to a perfect, sunny LA afternoon—she thoroughly enjoys being able to take off a couple of layers of clothing—and Miles is waiting for her at arrivals, even though she told him she’d be perfectly alright taking a taxi.
“Miles, you shouldn’t have,” she says, after a hug and a kiss that make her settle into herself in ways she hadn’t quite realized she’d been missing since January.
“Of course I should have,” Miles tells her, putting an arm around her. “One of the key perks of dating someone living in LA is that they’re legally obliged to save you from the LAX transport gauntlet. Let me spoil you while I have you, Simpkins.”
Iris feels the tiniest bit unsettled by the remark, but surely Miles only means it in the geographical sense, not in the Iris is going to leave me sense. So she smiles, and soon enough forgets about it, the conversation in the car and the sheer joy of being in Miles’ physical presence again overriding anything else.
And then Miles leads her into his house, and Iris is immediately struck by all the ways in which he’s prepared for her, made room for her, and her heart melts.
“Alright, so, I got one of those electric kettles so you can have your tea whenever you want—I asked my friend James which brand to get because he’s, like, obsessed with tea—and I cleared out all of these drawers and this side of the closet for you, and I bought this new set of towels for you.” Miles pauses, then, shrugs a little bashfully. “They’re blue-gray, kind of reminded me of your eyes.”
“Miles, you really shouldn’t have done all this,” Iris says, reaching out to take his hand in hers.
“I just wanted you to feel at home,” Miles says.
“Thank you, you absolutely lovely man,” Iris tells him, leaning closer to kiss him softly. “Now—I am utterly famished, so if it’s alright, I’d love to feel at home in the kitchen.”
Miles laughs. “You got it. I figured you’d be hungry, so I got us all the fixings for some truly gravity-defying sandwiches.”
They move around the kitchen like they’re dancing and they’re only making sandwiches, of course, but Iris can’t help but feel that they’re making more. It’s heady, to feel so comfortable.
“Hey, so, I was thinking we could have a few of my friends over on Friday for dinner, so you can meet them,” Miles says, once their sandwiches—duly gravity-defying—are made. “Would that be okay?”
“Friday?”
“Yeah, I figured Friday because I know tomorrow is your Arthur time and Saturday you’re going over to Amanda’s,” Miles tells her.
“You’re absolutely welcome to Arthur time, you know that,” Iris says, nudging him in the side. “But Friday sounds perfect. We can make brisket or maybe set up a sandwich bar, if it’s easier?”
And they’re off, brainstorming about the meal, which makes it easier for Iris to focus on anything but how nervous she suddenly feels.
Will Miles’ friends like her? God, will she like them? Are they all Hollywood types who will feel she’s terribly pedestrian and boring?
“Why on earth would they think you’re pedestrian and boring?” Arthur asks, when she shares her fears with him the next day. They’re having lunch in Arthur’s solarium, and Iris can’t even explain how much she missed being in this house with her friend. “You’re a spitfire! And if they think otherwise, they’re obviously idiots.”
“I think you might be a little biased, Arthur,” Iris says.
“I’m not biased, I’m right,” Arthur insists. “My students tell me so all the time.”
Iris leans back, shocked. “Well, this is a surprise—what students?”
“After the event with the Writers’ Guild, they asked me if I would be up for hosting master classes for a few screenwriters every few weeks—they promised they’d come here and that nobody would ask me any silly questions,” Arthur explains with a shrug. “They actually do ask a more than a few silly questions, but it’s alright.”
Iris knows she must be smiling a ridiculously large smile, but she can’t help it.
She thinks of the Arthur she first met, how he’d hesitated to even mention the movies he’d written, how he’d dismissed his own celebration… to know that he’s sharing his sharp mind and open heart with a whole new crop of screenwriters warms her heart.
“I’ve actually been thinking I might write some of it down,” Arthur says.
“Your lessons?”
“My lessons—my life,” Arthur replies. He tilts his head ever so slightly, gives her that challenging look she’s become used to. “I could use a good writer to help me put it together, make it a proper book. I’ve only written scripts.”
Surely he can’t mean…
“Arthur, there’s probably a hundred writers who would line up around the block to work with you,” Iris says.
“Well, I don’t want a hundred. I want you,” Arthur says firmly. “And you know I don’t love to yap on the phone all day, so you’d probably need to spend more time in LA.”
Iris raises an eyebrow. “Arthur… is this your way of meddling in my love life?”
“No, it’s my way of asking you to help me write my memoirs,” Arthur tells her. “You’re the only one who can meddle in your love life, kid. You’re the only one who can decide if you’re ready for it to get real.”
And it’s exactly like Arthur, to notice what Iris is feeling before even she does, to put it into words.
“What does it mean, exactly, for it to get real?”
Arthur shrugs. “Well, it was always what came after the movie, so I never really wrote it. We always left off after the meet-cute resolved into the leads getting together.” He pauses and leans across the table, looks at her seriously. “But there’s a reason I wrote my leading ladies with so much gumption—to make sure they’d have what it takes for everything that could happen after the end credits.”
Iris nods wordlessly, touched.
Knowing that Arthur Abbott believes she has gumption makes her feel like she’s capable of anything.
It’s also what gets her through Friday night dinner with Miles’ friends.
It’s not that they’re bad—not at all, most of them are lovely, with the exception of a slightly too conceited trombonist, but she doesn’t quite love how many of them seem to joke that she’s out of Miles’ league, and she truly hates that Miles looks like he believes it.
It casts an uncomfortable pall over the evening for her, making her spiral into anxious questions she can’t stop asking herself.
Has she given Miles any reason to think she isn’t happy? Has she taken him for granted, made him feel like Maggie used to?
She doesn’t think any of Miles’ friends notice—she’d become an expert at hiding anxiety spirals during the Jasper Bloom era—but it makes for an uncomfortable dinner nevertheless. Miles definitely does notice, but since Iris doesn’t really know quite how to verbalize her questions yet, she does her level best to dissemble.
The unsettled feeling doesn’t leave her by the time morning comes, and she’s probably a little more grateful than is seemly to have a ready-made excuse for stepping out of the house early: she promised Amanda she’d be at her place by nine am to start the cataloguing and packing process.
Amanda greets her with a smile, a fresh croissant, and an entire pot of English Breakfast tea all for herself, which immediately makes Iris feel better.
The process of going through the house she came to love so much—where she found so very much of herself again—is also soothing.
Amanda isn’t packing everything up, though, because she intends to rent her house, but she also doesn’t want to leave anything too personal lying around since, in her words, “TMZ are absolute fucking parasites and I wouldn’t put it past them to rent my house just so they can see if Leo DiCaprio ever left a t-shirt lying around.” which is frankly a sentence so surreal, Iris can’t do anything but nod and keep checking things off on the clipboard Amanda hands her.
They’re about halfway done when Amanda calls for a break, and they congregate at the kitchen island with fresh bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, and lox.
“These are incredible,” Iris says, after she takes her first bite.
“They’re from Maury’s on Bellevue, and definitely the best thing in Silverlake,” Amanda tells her. She frowns down at her bagel. “God, are there like, actual bagels in London? Or is it all scones and crumpets and strumpets?”
Iris laughs. “I don’t think strumpets are edible—not unless you ask nicely, anyway. But I’m sure there are a few spots. Graham is bound to know; he’s always trying new places.”
“Hmm,” Amanda nods, and then bites her lip, shifts a little in her seat. “I’m not moving to London just for Graham or for, like, the power of love or whatever. It’s a smart business decision, you know? Most of the big Hollywood producers have offices in London for their British and European projects, things that are a little more Awards-centered, and I’ve wanted to go in that direction for a while. My team can definitely hold the fort here while I set up our branch there.”
And Iris hasn’t known Amanda for too long, but she knows enough to see that steely rationality is how she moves through her life, how she handles the unexpected.
But she’s also been learning from Miles and from Arthur that love matters, that it’s never entirely rational, and that it’s alright to love and to hope out loud.
So she reaches across the kitchen island and takes Amanda’s hand in hers, squeezes it softly.
“Amanda—it’s okay if you’re moving to London for love. I mean, I’m glad it’s a smart business decision, too, of course, but… you’re allowed to do things simply because they’ll bring more happiness and love to your life. They don’t have to make perfect and absolute sense all the time.”
Amanda blinks quickly, a few tears escaping her eyes, and she gives Iris a small but genuine smile.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she says, shaking her head with a little laugh. “Of course you’re right. Thank you, Iris.”
They finish their bagels and then tackle the rest of the house, and by the time Iris goes back to Miles’, she realizes it’s about time she takes her own advice.
She wants Miles and her to get real. She wants Miles to trust that she’s in this, that there’s no question of too-good-for or worthy-of.
And to do that, she has to say it out loud: to love him out loud.
“Hey, sweetie, how was Amanda’s?” Miles asks, when she goes to greet him. He’s in his studio, annotating a score. “Are you very tired? Do you want me to order some of that really amazing pozole you liked?”
Iris sits next to him, and he immediately makes room for her, holds her close.
“That sounds lovely, thank you,” she says. “But first, I—I wanted to say something.”
Miles frowns a little. “Okay…”
“It’s nothing bad, I don’t think—I hope,” Iris reassures him immediately. “It’s—well. You asked me if I was alright Friday night, and I told you I was fine, but I wasn’t being entirely honest. I was a little upset, you see? Because more than one of your friends said that I was out of your league or made jokes about you not deserving me and, well. I didn’t like that you seemed to agree with them.”
“Iris—”
“Wait, let me finish,” Iris says, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. “I realized that I’m so incredibly happy with you, so incredibly comfortable, that I hadn’t put into words exactly how I feel about you, because it just felt so obvious. But for people like you and me, I think love never feels obvious, really. And it’s important to say it out loud.”
She pauses, takes a breath, feels her chest fill up with sheer emotion.
“Miles, I love you. Being with you—physically with you, and over the phone, and through postcards—it’s made me utterly happy. And I want to keep being with you, for as long as we both feel it’s right.”
Miles leans in, then, kisses her like he can’t stop himself.
He pulls back just slightly, and says, close and certain, “Iris, you’re the melody I think I’d been waiting for my whole life.”
“Good notes?” Iris asks, shakily.
“The best notes,” Miles replies. “I love you, too, so much. And I’m in this for the long haul, okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
Her holiday comes to an end—Easter doesn’t last forever—but when she says goodbye to Miles, Iris doesn’t just feel hope.
She feels certainty.
Surrey, England and Los Angeles, CA, again
Six months after spending Christmas in LA, Iris decides she’s moving there for good.
It’s not a decision she comes to all by herself, either—Graham determines to be a big brother about her whole long-distance relationship situation after his own long-distance conundrum is solved, and gets her an interview with an editor at the LA Times and another with an editor at the LA office of Vogue.
“Isn’t it rather murky, to get an interview because of my brother?”
Graham rolls his eyes.
“Iris—I don’t think anybody gets a job in media these days without being someone’s sister, or brother, or favorite niece,” he says. “You’re ridiculously talented and I know you’ll be an asset to them. You also have a wonderful boyfriend and a book of memoirs to start writing in LA, so will you please just let me do this for you?”
He’s looking at her with sincere, slightly weepy eyes—his specialty—and Iris is really going to miss him, and the girls, and Amanda, but he’s not wrong.
There’s a lot more calling her to LA than keeping her in England right now.
“Alright,” she says. “Thank you, Graham.”
After that, it’s like everything falls into place, both great things and small ones: she aces her LA Times interview and gets a job offer, and Vogue tells her they’ll be contacting her for stand-alone stories as well.
She finds a lovely property manager for the cottage who promises they’ll handle short- and long-term rentals without any trouble.
Her work visa and Charlie’s veterinary travel papers are approved without too much fuss.
Jasper Bloom’s debut novel is utterly thrashed by the critics.
Miles emails her endless pictures of the different spots in his house he’s clearing so she’ll be able to fit her clothes and books and favorite kitchen utensils, interspersed with sad-faced pictures of his own face saying he misses her and moving day is still too far away.
She still cries when Graham, Amanda, and the girls send her off at Heathrow, of course, but she’s comforted by the fact that they’re all traveling to LA for Christmas, so she’ll see them soon enough.
And when she gets off the plane at LAX along with Charlie, who’s still a little somnolent in his crate, Miles is waiting for her again—no longer just a perk, but one of the surest things she's ever known.
“Hi,” she says, smiling, feeling so full of joy she can’t think of anything else to say.
“Welcome home,” Miles tells her, and takes her hand to lead her out of the airport, and toward the rest of their lives.