This is it for this story. The final chapter, dun dun dun...

We'll have a new story up for you soon, the second installment to a previous story. It'll be off the hook. Keep an eye out for it.


Michael's POV

It's a good thing I wrapped up filming on the movie, because I get the feeling it wouldn't be too comfortable working with Jacques right now.

Poor Sarah. She's got loads more scenes, and even though she didn't tell Jacques to fuck off, she'll definitely suffer the repercussions.

Also, even if I was supposed to be on the set—I so would've taken the day off to prepare for Mia's visit tonight.

I'm cooking. Is that unbelievable? It probably would've been much safer for me to get take-out or something, but I want this to be special. I know we just decided to be friends, but silly little terms don't change how I feel. And I'm pretty used to getting what I want.

Come to think of it, that's all gonna change soon. I won't have Beverly. I won't have hairdressers. And I had just gotten used to wearing make-up too!

Oh, and I won't have Lilly at my beck and call.

I lay down on my couch for a moment, feeling a little faint. What am I supposed to do? Am I expected to bring myself breakfast? Have I ever made a single appointment for myself?

I'm gonna have to hire a chef. A maid, definitely. Do I need a gardener?

Well, there is that fern in the corner. And then the window box has some daisies.

Yes, I'll hire one of those straightaway. I fumbled for my phone, but before I could dial 411, I stopped in my tracks.

What am I doing? How is it leaving show business if I take all the frills along with me? That wouldn't be fair. Even though it's not the pampering I'm tired of.

No. I'm going to be a big boy. I'll fold my own clothes and vacuum my carpet and—holy shit, is that my Easy Mac boiling over?

"Lilly," I was wailing pathetically into my phone, not two seconds later.

"What, Michael?" she groaned. But she didn't sound as annoyed as usual. I guess she senses the end of her servitude is coming.

"Can you be over here, like, right now? I think my kitchen's about to explode." I leaned over warily, looking at all the macaroni that now decorated the tile floor.

I could probably get her to just toss that in the trash too, right?

"You owe me, Moscovitz," she growled, hanging up.

I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried into my room. Lilly will get dinner under control, but I've still gotta figure out what the heck I'm going to wear.

What says "I'm your friend but if you want to we could be so much more"? Or do I want something magnetic? To where I won't be the only desperate one in the room?

I was sitting in the middle of my carpet, my room now unrecognizable beneath piles and piles of button-downs, khakis, and jeans, when Lilly arrived.

"What are you doing?" she asked incredulously, looking down at my feverish sorting.

"Okay, Lil, you're a girl. Do you guys like blue or green more? What makes my lips stand out?"

She sighed, laughing a little as she crossed my room and plunked down on my bed. "Made up with Mia, then?"

"I'm going to," I said, no longer able to keep it to myself. "And everything needs to be perfect. So could you go mop up that mess in the kitchen and make something that girls like? Then come back and go over wardrobe choices with me."

But Lilly didn't snap to it. She just glared at me. "I'm not going to do everything for you. I'm not the one trying to get on Mia's good side."

"Lilly," I said, getting impatient. A guy can't handle all this stress in one day. "This is what you're paid for."

"Fine then. But I'll make sure Mia knows who did all the work."

"Gah!" I cried, throwing down an undershirt. "What are you good for anyway?"

"Life skills," said Lilly sagely. "Now here's what I will tell you. Pick a shirt that you know Mia would like. Contrary to popular belief, we girls don't all have one mind."

That's actually really frightening. If they've all got different thoughts and emotions and whatnot, there's no WAY I'll ever figure them out.

But I don't care about the masses. I just wanna delve into the realm of Mia. I could spend a lifetime doing that.

Lilly was snapping in my face, looking amused. "Stop mooning over her for one second and tell me what kind of food she likes. I'll order take-out. But then you're on your own, Michael."

"Vegetarian," I mumbled, grabbing my Die Hard tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Maybe if I keep my attire informal, it'll make everything else more comfortable.

Pssh. I can only hope.

Mia's POV

I stood at Michael's door at seven o'clock on the dot, his present clutched tightly in my trembling hands.

Just a second or two after I knocked, the door flew open. Michael stood before me in JEANS, for Pete's sake.

Did I really just spend five hours undergoing another one of Tina's makeovers? This time, though, I hadn't let her near my face. Though I must admit, I was all powdered, mascaraed, glossed, exfoliated, and blushed.

I was starting to think that the dress was a little much, though.

It was a light blue little sundress, splashed with huge, dark blue flowers.

I am okay with being overdressed, because Michael and I are just friends. So that sort of thing doesn't even matter. "Y-you look beautiful," said Michael softly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Okay, it's definitely worth it.

"Can I take your coat?" he offered, looking every bit as nervous as I felt.

"Um, all right." I turned around and he helped me out of it, his fingertips lingering on my bare shoulders.

"Is that my present?"

"Uh huh. Where should I put it?"

He glanced at it longingly. "The table, I guess. We'll open them after dinner. I got vegetarian lasagne."

"You like that stuff?" I asked, delighted. Michael told me he'd been on a diet for years, but he was more into smoothies and granola bars. And the occasional Big Mac when no one was looking.

"Yeah…of course I do! Come on, I set the table and everything."

To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and walked me into the dining room. There was a little Christmas tree set up in there with a solitary present beneath it. "Merry Christmas," muttered Michael, grinning sheepishly. "Now, sit! Eat! Make merry!"

He pulled out my chair and walked around the table to take his own seat. I started eating, having kind of skipped out on lunch or breakfast in preparation for tonight.

But Michael was just watching me, so I put down my fork. Do you know how tough it is to eat in front of guy, especially when he's downright staring at you?

"Did you want to sing carols or something?" I asked slowly.

He, however, didn't have holiday cheer on the brain. "I missed you," he said softly, reaching for my hand across the table. "Sorry for being such an ass lately. I didn't even get to celebrate my birthday with you like I wanted."

He missed me.

His ass is fine.

AND I FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY.

"I didn't get you a present!" I blurted out before I could think of anything else.

Michael cracked up, leaving me puzzled. "Do you think I care about that? I'm just glad you're here. That we're not yelling at each other. And that you wore that dress. That's enough of a birthday present for me."

He stood up and walked over to the tree, picking up the little festively wrapped box. "Let's open presents right now. I'm not hungry."

I wasn't so much now either.

We both tore into them simultaneously, but before I could exclaim over the charm bracelet, Michael had tackled me into a hug. "Star Wars trilogy on DVD?" he yelped. "You're amazing!"

He better like it. I was up till one last night finding it and then wrapping it absolutely perfectly. And what had he done with the wrapping paper? Ripped it to shreds! I only hoped he'd take better care of the DVDs.

I hugged back for a good minute. It was most definitely…nice being back in his arms again. But I still didn't feel right.

"You can have the charm bracelet back," I said sadly, my gaze focused on the cute little cat charm. Just like Fat Louie.

"Is it the wrong size?" asked Michael, setting down his present. "I could get it fixed, if you want."

"That's not it! I don't feel right having this when I forgot your birthday and all."

"Are you still on about that?" he asked, kneeling at my feet. After a second, though, Michael got a mischievous gleam in his eye. "If you really want to get me a present…there is this one thing…"

He stood, pulling me to my feet as well. "What I'd really like," he whispered, pulling me even closer. "Is for us to forget about this friends business. I can't be your friend, Mia Thermopolis. So grant my birthday wish, would you?"

His words exactly. Just like that. Was it just me or was the room about a thousand degrees by then?

"Um," I responded brilliantly.

"I'll elaborate," he said, smiling. "Kiss me."

My eyes were starting to cross themselves by then, from the effort of looking at Michael while he was only inches away. Why fight it? Why fight the birthday boy? And why fight everything my mind and body have been telling me to do for at least the last week?

So I did it. I slid my arms around his neck, with a grin to match his, and met his lips with mine.

Sure, fireworks didn't explode. An unseen band didn't strike-up some happy-go-lucky love song. And the credits didn't roll.

But this was my movie magic, and I was savoring it for all it was worth.